The Legend of Harry Potter: Phoenix Burning
by Warlord1096
Summary: Harry Potter - a legend since he was a year old. Triwizard Champion when he was fourteen. And now that he's fifteen, he's ready to fight a War. The question remains, against whom? Caught up in shadow, the Light suddenly starts looking a lot more ominous. It's the Light versus the Dark versus Harry. Let the chaos begin. Nothing is as it seems when even allies have different faces.
1. A Legend Begins Anew

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter, the rights to which are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.**

** THE LEGEND OF HARRY POTTER: PHOENIX BURNING**

**Chapter 1: The Legend Begins Anew**

_Drip, drip._

_Harry could hear the drops of water falling onto the wet floor behind him, and he strained his ears to make out any sound beyond it._

_Hearing nothing, he chanced a glance outside from his hiding spot at the base of one of the carved stone serpents. _

_Ginny's distinct red hair was still visible on the floor, and he could barely make out Riddle's shade behind him. _

_The Basilisk was nowhere in sight. Sighing slightly in relief, and trying to suppress his ever rising terror, Harry cast around his mind for something to help him out of this mess, but came up blank._

_He saw Riddle shift, hissing something, and he ducked behind the statue again. He wished he had his wand with him – it had become a constant in his life, and even feeling its warmth in his hand would give him a shred of confidence._

_Not that it would do him much good; he couldn't think of any spells that could kill a Basilisk. On second thoughts, he didn't know anything that would even help him to escape this situation._

_He cursed as the fear within him seemed to multiply in leaps and bounds, chastising himself for being so lackadaisical about his education – something that was about to cost him his life._

Help_, he thought fervently, desperately. _Anybody_, _help!

_He was rewarded with a beautiful, haunting melody that echoed around the chamber and sent courage running through his veins like liquid fire. He looked up and saw a magnificent golden-red bird flying down at him, and recognized Dumbledore's phoenix._

_As Fawkes came closer, though, he suddenly realized that the bird wasn't so much focused on him as something behind him. His brown eyes were narrowed at something over his shoulder, and without thinking, he turned around –_

_And found himself looking at burning, bottomless yellow eyes._

Harry shot up, gasping. He hadn't dreamt about the Chamber for a long time, fitting that it happen today.

He peeked at the bed opposite him through the heavy silence in the dormitory. His best friend had showed no signs of stirring in his bed, illuminated by the pink rays of the sunrise.

_His ex -best friend,_ Harry reminded himself, trying to ignore the sharp jab of sadness at Ron's betrayal.

He still found it hard to deal with. Ron, who'd stuck through him all through the events surrounding the very Chamber he'd been dreaming of, had left him hanging when Harry had needed him most.

Pushing thoughts of Ron out of his face, Harry got out of bed groggily and set about readying himself for the day so that he might get out of the Gryffindor Tower early. He had no desire to face any of the people who believed that he was an attention-seeking prat like Ron had made him out to be, and he _definitely_ didn't want to come across one of his round-eyed worshippers who'd believed he'd done extremely complex magic to get himself entered, and was a winner for sure.

_Still,_ he thought grumpily, as he came out of the bath, drying his hair. _At least they support me._ He had no illusions that he'd be on the black list of over three-quarters of the school after the Goblet of Fire fiasco last night.

_Hermione,_ he realized, making his way down the stairs, _it's Hermione whom I need to talk to._ He'd already lost one friendship, and he wasn't going to lose another. It was time to be completely honest with her, and tell her what he should have told her ages ago.

The very prospect gave him a mild headache.

Nevertheless, he besieged his bushy-haired friend when she arrived for breakfast with a stack of toast ready for her, and demanded that he take a walk around the lake with her.

Thankfully, Hermione was an early riser, so the Great Hall was still empty when they made their way out, saving him from the glares and whispers that were sure to come in droves.

He pondered how to break the truth to her as they walked down the shore of the Black Lake and watched the Giant Squid waving its tentacles lazily in the early morning light.

"What's going on, Harry?" asked Hermione, looking up at him with big brown eyes. Frankly, the girl was more nervous than him about the entire thing, and_ he _was nervous enough to seriously contemplate doing a runner from it all.

He decided to go for the blunt approach. "Hermione," he said bluntly, "I need to tell you something extremely important, and you _can't_ tell anybody about it."

He could see her eyes light up at the prospect of discovering a hitherto unknown fact, of solving a piece of the puzzle that was him. "What is it, Harry?" she asked carefully, though he could sense the interest in her tone. "Is it something to do with the Tournament?"

"Sort of," he replied, shuffling his feet a bit. "It's very secret, though," he stressed again, making sure to get the point across.

"On my magic, Harry, and all that nonsense," she said amusedly, her eyes shining. "This remains between us. This isn't something to do with..._puberty, _is it?" she whispered, her eyes suddenly widening.

Harry, who'd been momentarily distracted by a tingle of magic in the air, blushed deeply and shook his head wildly. "No, no!" he protested almost violently. "It's nothing of that sort."

Hermione looked distinctly relieved. "All right then," she said, "is it about Ronald? Give it some time, Harry, I'm sure he'll come around..."

"No," he repeated again, forcefully. Deciding to take the bull by the horns, he blurted out, "Hermione, I'm smart."

There was a pregnant pause following his announcement. Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at him incredulously. "I know that, Harry," she said a bit slowly, as if fearing for his intelligence despite what he'd just said.

"No, no, it's not like that," he said, frustrated. "I'm smarter than I look –"

"I've known that for years, Harry."

"No, _no_," he was getting angry now. "Hermione, in the Chamber of Secrets, I looked the Basilisk in the eye."

That got rid of any amusement she'd been showing. "_What?!_" she shrieked in horror, and he winced at her shrill tone. "Harry, you should be dead! How did you survive?"

It was his turn to be slightly amused as he tapped his scars. "I think I have a little bit of history when it comes to surviving impossible attempts to kill me, Hermione," he said, and he flushed a bit.

"But, Harry," she said, lowering her voice, much to his relief. "What happened?"

"My scar," he explained tentatively, absently running his finger across the lightning bolt shaped mark on his forehead. "It sort of exploded, with Dark Magic. Damn near took the head of the Basilisk off. There was a lot of screaming, too...dunno, it all went a bit hazy there near the end."

Hermione's mouth was hanging open, but he continued anyway. "Dumbledore told me after the Chamber that Voldemort had left a bit of himself in me when he tried to kill me. I reckon whatever the Basilisk did; it drove it away from my scar. I felt lighter too, my _brain_ felt lighter, if I can explain. I could literally feel more powerful," he finished, chancing a look at her.

She seemed to be taking it well so far, so he pressed on. "And after that year..." he said, "well, I'd already had my life in mortal danger twice in two years at Hogwarts, so I bucked up and studied a bit. It was like someone had cast a spell on me to be the best I possibly could, I don't remember ever being so motivated or driven to study."

"So that's why you dropped Divination and took up Arithmancy and Runes with me," exclaimed Hermione, feeling pleased as she finally found an answer to another mystery behind her best friend.

"Yes," agreed Harry, "it was almost like my brain and magic was compensating for everything it had gone through, and I was determined to be the best I possibly could."

"But why hide it, Harry?" asked Hermione testily, her eyes narrowing. "Why not tell me, or Ron?"

Harry paused, wondering how to answer that. In reality, he didn't know how to go about doing that. He couldn't explain why he'd kept it silent, he just had. Maybe it was to keep an ace up his sleeve next time someone tried to off him, or simply because he didn't want to go through the harassment of all the explanations once his performance at school improved drastically.

"I don't know," he offered lamely, finally.

Hermione's eyes widened, he could almost feel the cogs whistling and whirring inside her head. "Harry!" she nearly screamed once he could see that she'd arrived at some conclusion, "you _did_ enter your name in the Goblet of Fire!"

"What?!" he asked, completely stumped.

"It's only logical!" she said, more to herself than him. She paced around, wringing her hands together, before she came to a stop and looked up at him, putting her hands on her hips and putting a disapproving look on her face. "I can't believe you did this, Harry," she said, "while I understand your need to be the best, and to come out of the shadow of your fame as the Boy-Who-Lived, this isn't the way to go about it!"

He could only mutter a helpless "What?" again, because he was at a complete loss as to how she'd come up with something like this so fast.

"I can't believe you, Harry!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Why would you do something so completely _asinine?!_"

He had no idea what asinine meant, but it didn't sound nice. "Hermione, you don't understand –"

"Oh, I think I understand just fine, Harry! You lied to your friends for over a year, and now you're telling me to garner sympathy because you're in too deep! What'll Dumbledore think of this?" she asked him, building up a second round of steam.

"You can't tell him!" Harry hissed, the idea of Dumbledore – who'd allowed him into the mess without doing anything – of finding out about this was terrible. "You swore not to tell anyone! You have to trust me!"

"I don't know how to, anymore!" she protested in her high voice again, "you kept me in the dark about something as big as this, and now you won't let me tell the one person who can make sense of what happened to you?"

"I'm not a puzzle, Hermione!" he retorted, feeling his own anger start to stir, "I just can't be made sense of with some Q&A with the Headmaster, or be unravelled with logical thinking! And you swore an oath, on your magic!"

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Magical oaths are a myth, Harry," she said, and he suddenly found himself hating her condescension. "I don't care about any silly fantastic promises, we _need_ to talk to Dumbledore."

Harry opened his mouth in anger, but stopped short when Hermione's eyes glazed over suddenly. He stepped back in horror, looking around to see if someone had noticed; but everything around was deserted.

"Harry?" Hermione suddenly asked him frostily, and he replied with a "Yes?" even without thinking.

"What are you doing here? Come here to apologize?" she asked loftily, and his eyebrows shot into his head.

"For _what?!_"

"For entering yourself into the Tournament without telling me!" she said, hints of anger showing in her eyes.

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Did none of our conversation just now register?" he asked. "I. Didn't. Enter. Myself!"

"What conversation?" asked Hermione, mystified.

Harry stared.

He would later discover how foolhardy it was to ask for oaths so nonchalantly, when she just as easily could have been killed. It seemed Magical Oaths existed, and they didn't like it when they were broken.

As he read the section on Unbreakable Vows, though, he thanked the high heavens that the Magical Oath had only let her off with a mild memory modification.

That had led to a whole new set of questions about the depth of intent while making vows.

Hell, it led to a whole new set of questions about intent behind performing magic.

...o0oOo0o...

_Harry Potter?_ Spoke the surprised voice of the Sorting Hat within his head. _I don't remember the last time I sat on the head of the same student twice, let alone thrice. What seems to be the matter?_

Harry only thought about everything that had transpired over the past few days, willing the Hat to understand.

_Aah..._said the Hat heavily. _You find yourself at a crossroads again. On one hand, you are nervous about the fact that someone has entered your name into the Tournament, and may even be trying to kill you._

_On the other hand,_ it continued, _you wouldn't mind winning this, would you?_ It asked, almost crooning in his ear.

For a moment, a vision flashed before his eyes. The Triwizard Cup was in his hands, he was lifting it up to the crowd's roar of 'POTTER!'

_Yes, _said the Hat, sounding almost entertained. _Ambition, the thirst to prove yourself...traits generally connected to the house of Slytherin, Mr. Potter, _it said. _My word remains the same. You would have done well in Slytherin._

Frustrated, Harry made to take the Hat off; he had no desire to listen to something he'd already heard before.

_Wait!_ Said the Hat, and he paused. _On the seventh floor corridor, Mr. Potter, there is a very special room. Walk thrice past the room with your problems at the forefront of your mind, and you may just find a way out of this mess. _

_There may be time yet to find the Snake within, Mr. Potter,_ the Hat told Harry as he pondered this latest piece of news. _You should need it now, more than ever._

_Why are you telling me this?_ Asked Harry.

_I'm a hat, _it said, _once_ _every year, I sit on the head of a student, judge them as best as I can, and then let go of their thoughts. And then I spend the rest of the year in solitude. As I said, no student has sought me ought for a second time, let alone a third._

_And Mr. Potter, _said the Hatas he made to take it off, _though great things may be expected from you, what you really need is more...time._

And unbidden, another thought flashed through his mind; a memory concerning the very Headmaster whose office he was in. _More time..._

"Harry?" the boy wizard in question looked up from his ponderings to find that the Headmaster had finally graced him with his presence. "You must be curious as to why I have called you here?"

Even though Harry did nod gratefully when the old Headmaster, his eyes twinkling with amusement, told him that he could return to his office to speak to the Sorting Hat anytime he wished; he only listened with half a ear as Dumbledore engaged him in a conversation about his scar hurting over the summer.

He had a time-turner to steal.

...o0oOo0o...

Hermione had told him at the end of third year that she'd returned her Time-Turner to McGonagall, who would then have to return it to the Ministry of Magic since they were regulated object.

Would it still hurt to look? The wonderful room which the Hat had told him of – which had even identified itself as the Room of Requirement on a piece of paper when he'd asked – was unable to conjure Time-Turners, or even food, for that matter.

So it was four days after his name had emerged from the Goblet that he snuck his way into McGonagall's office at one-thirty in the night. His heart racing with the familiar thrill of breaking school rules, he pulled his wand out and began creeping about the place, opening drawers and looking in cupboards.

He struck gold in the third drawer under her desk – it was almost too easy to be true, but he'd had plenty of luck before; he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he cast a whispered _Geminio_ on it, he decided to return every week to recast the spell so that it wouldn't fade away and give away his theft.

Deciding that he had no time to think about why McGonagall had kept it with her, or what would happen if she decided to use it sometime.

As much as he hated to make the overtly Gryffindor-ish statement, he'd deal with the storm when it came.

...o0oOo0o...

"Potter!" Harry jumped in shock, drawing his wand as he whirled around to face whoever had accosted him on his way back to the Room of Requirement from dinner.

He was feeling a bit disoriented; he couldn't even tell the date properly. He'd spent the last few hours-days-months? working in the Room, and he wasn't really thinking straight. He needed to go back and sleep for an entire day, since he was under no obligations to attend class as Triwizard Champion. In fact, he needed to sleep for several days, if he could risk it.

He sighed as he noticed Mad-Eye Moody stumping up to him. "Why haven't you been in my class recently, Potter?" growled the retired Auror, his good eye fixed on Harry while the other whizzed about eratically.

"I've been training for the Tournament, Sir," answered Harry honestly, and Moody nodded in approval, his face clearing slightly.

"So I take it you have a plan for Friday?" asked Moody, and Harry blanched slightly. While he'd been killing himself practising, he still didn't feel confident about taking on whatever the Tournament had in store for him in...in...

Moody must have misinterpreted the look on his face, because he roared, "Are you having me on, Potter! Six days to the task, and you're telling me that you don't know what it is?!"

Ah, it was Saturday. He had six normal days to go before he was forced into a Gladiator fight for the entertainment of the masses.

"I don't think I'm supposed to know, Sir," he replied, "it's going to be a test of our courage and thinking under stress."

Moody's eyes widened, before his face turned a shade of purple that would have made Uncle Vernon shed a tear or two in kinship. It seemed like the grizzled old man was struggling to speak, even though it was costing him to do so.

Moody gave up, finally. "Damned enchantments," he growled, "I can't tell you what it is, so on your own head be it. Make sure you know what you're doing."

He nodded, and began to move away, before Moody called to him again. "Potter!" he said, and Harry turned around, not wanting to talk to the deranged man at all.

"Sir?" he asked wearily, wishing for nothing more than to go back to the Room of Requirement and hit the sack.

"Walk with me," said Moody, his tone brooking no argument.

Harry complied wearily, only to find himself in Moody's office and facing a basin filled with a weird watery substance.

"A Pensieve," said Moody, by way of explanation. "It allows wizards and witches to review memories."

Harry was struck by the thought of Riddle's Diary from second year, and braced himself for the discomfort he was sure to feel within a few moments.

He was not disappointed though, and he felt an intense swooping in his stomach as Moody seized his head and dunked it into the Pensieve.

He was surprised, though, at what his Defense Professor had in store for him.

_He was in Diagon Alley. The entire street was in chaos, with people screaming and shouting in joy, with many of them on their knees. Tears leaked down their faces, people randomly hugged each other, beer and ale were brought out on the street to the obviously public celebration._

_His eyes widened as he caught snippets of the conversation, and Moody only nodded as Harry looked to him for confirmation, before motioning forward. _

_He turned to find a woman standing on an elevated platform, obviously drunk. She had exotic features, and was dressed in just a brassiere and a loincloth, he noticed. She tottered slightly as she held herself up to full height, holding a chalice in one hand, and a knife in the other. Surrounding her, a troupe of performers set up, placing huge drums before them. _

_Holding the knife up for all to see, the woman slit her hand open as the drums around her started beating with a thunderous sound, and she started swaying hypnotically. She let her one lifeblood seep into the chalice, before one of the drumbeaters healed her cut with a flick of his wand._

_She handed the chalice down as she danced slightly to the tentative rhythm. Harry saw, with a horrifying thrill, that many wizards cast spells to make minor cuts on their arm and let droplets of blood fall into the chalice. He even heard some mutterings about Dark rituals, but nobody seemed to come forward to call her out on it. It seemed most of these wizards knew what was going on, and were rapidly explaining to those who didn't._

_Finally, the chalice was passed back to her, and though many had bled into it, it was still only halfway filled. She held it close to her and started swaying in earnest to the beat of the drums._

_The rythm picked up, and so did her speed and dancing, as she turned and twisted atop the table lithely. Perspiration coated her spinning body, as she almost became a blur, her movements still fluid and graceful like a coiling snake. Silence descended on the Alley, as more and more people sank to their knees, as if waiting for a giant crescendo._

_He could almost feel the magic in the air through the memory as she came to a stop. He could almost see the tangible aura surrounding her, as she lifted the chalice into the air with an emphatic flourish._

"_TO HARRY POTTER!" she screamed, and he was awed to find the crowd echoing her._

"_TO HARRY POTTER!" they roared, and raised their arms up, their wands in their hands._

_A second's pause - and then the blood in the chalice burst into fire. Blood red flames burned in the chalice before it changed colour to a glowing golden. Harry was reminded of the Goblet of Fire itself._

_She raised the burning chalice, the golden light illuminating the fanatical look on her face. She looked around the crowd, her face proud and determined, before she screamed again, and the crowd followed suit._

"_THE BOY-WHO-LIVED!" _

He emerged from the Pensieve right then, thoroughly shaken by what he had just witnessed.

"What _was_ that?" asked Harry, both nauseated and entranced at what he'd just seen.

"A rite of victory," said Moody, "performed by Druids after they won their battles. The woman was a Druid, and _she_ was grateful enough for what happened that Halloween night, Potter. Their kind were looked upon as filth by Voldemort, though he had healthy respect for their power."

"What happened to the chalice?" Harry questioned again, still unable to shake the image of the dancing woman from his mind. "Why did they do that?"

Moody fixed him with an indecipherable look. "People went a bit stir-crazy when the War ended like that, Potter," he said, "I don't know why the hell you don't know about either the War or the gifts people gave you, but you have no idea what it was like at the height of the War. We were losing, we'd been losing for almost a decade, and people knew it. Your defeat of Voldemort was a Godsend for some of us, I personally know heathen wizards who even took up religion after the Dark Lord's fall."

Harry _still_ couldn't wrap his head around the gravity of what he'd just seen, of what he was to these people. His mind started racing though, as he thought of what Moody had just said.

"Gifts from the people?" he asked, unsure of himself.

"Contact Gringotts," said Moody shortly, "but that's beside the point. _This_ is what you are, Potter, and you can't run away from it. I've heard stories from the staff about your modesty, but I can see now that it's bordering on plain stupidity and teenage insecurity."

"You. Are. A. Hero." Growled Moody, "People expect you to win this thing, you _cannot_ sit around and twiddle your thumbs. Former Champions have cheated their way through the Tournament, and yet here you are, with all your connections, doing _squat!_"

"I've been training –"

"I don't care about your childish attempts to teach yourself a spell or two, Potter!" roared Moody. "Did you know that the French ignored our pleas for help during the First War? Did you know that half of Bulgaria was on the side of You-Know-Who?! I will not have us losing out to those bastards, not even in this Tournament! You are a messiah to the people, and it is your_ duty_ to win this now that you've been entered!"

The Auror was breathing heavily now, and he took out his hip-flask, most likely to calm himself with a drink. Seeing that it was empty, he threw it against the floor in frustration, startling Harry.

"Out," he growled, and Harry started. The man had just showed him one of the single most disturbing yet moving things he'd seen in his life, and just about told him that he had to win the Tournament by hook and crook because of who he_ was_...

And he was asking him to leave?

"OUT!" roared Moody again, now going for his wand.

A thoroughly confused yet somewhat inspired Harry Potter left the office rapidly, his mind still a jumbled mess as he pondered upon what he'd just seen.

He needed to write a letter to Gringotts fast.

...o0oOo0o...

Harry sat alone in his section of the tent, staring into the depths of his Chalice as if hypnotised by the flames. He'd written to the Goblins and found out that the reason behind the heaps of wealth in his Vault was the gratitude of the common people, who'd gifted him several other exotic items as well, according to them. Harry intended to take them up on their standing invitation to browse through his possessions as soon as he could.

He had personally asked after the chalice, though, and had it sent to him. It was a thing of beauty - simple yet brilliant, he'd decided. It didn't have any overt magical properties, though, but it always gave off a comforting warmth and calmed his mind immensely.

He also couldn't shake off the feeling that the smell of fresh soap and cookies that he got from it were the scents he remembered of his parents, and he swore to look into the matter as well.

Basking in the feeling of being loved, Harry stared at the mysterious note that he'd found waiting in his tent. He went over it again, looking at the three words written on it.

"_Don't stop running."_

And it was written in his handwriting.

If this meant what he thought he meant, then he'd found a way around the task, and survived enough into the future to go back in time and send himself a note. He knew that he was creating an infinite loop, but the concept of a time paradox was too intriguing.

A mild gong announced the arrival of the judges, and regretfully leaving the mystery of the note and the golden flames, he walked outside to the main area.

Bagman and Crouch had arrived with the rest of the heads, and he found his nervousness rising as he saw the silken pouch in Crouch's hand.

"Gather round," said Bagman jovially, as though they were convening at a favourite niece's birthday party. Harry nevertheless did so, standing at the end of the row, next to Fleur who wrinkled her nose at him.

Trying to ignore the subtle smell of daisies that she was giving off, Harry concentrated on what Bagman was saying.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "for the First Task, you have to..._capture a Golden Egg!"_

The other champions only nodded – Krum granted – resignation on their faces. Bagman seemed a bit put out that they'd understood without the rest of his theatrical introduction, but Harry was still perplexed. He knew that the other Champions already knew of the Task, so he'd decided just throw a shitstorm their way and come out smelling of roses.

"What do you mean, capture a Golden Egg?" he asked, still puzzled.

The other three Champions turned to him, and his eyes narrowed dramatically. "Why aren't any of you surprised?!" he challenged them, "Did you know of this beforehand?!"

Krum, dealing with trash talk and tight situations throughout his career, was able to maintain a poker face. Fleur and Cedric, though, took a few seconds to rearrange their faces into unassuming ones.

That was time enough for Rita Skeeter and her photographer to pounce, immediately throwing about rapid fire questions about the integrity of the elder Champions. Krum, though visibly harried, maintained a stoic silence, but Cedric and Fleur stuttered their way through the firing squad's attack.

"Enough, enough!" shouted Bagman, and Harry was shocked to see an almost manic gleam in his eyes. "I daresay Mr. Potter will be feeling better soon. Right, that's _enough_, Rita...cheating's always been a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament," he finished, a wide grin back on his face.

"Which is why we took certain measures this year," said Crouch, a similar smile playing on his lips. "The true challengers in the task maintained the illusion of Dragons admirably, which is a given considering their affinity for anything to do with fire."

The looks on the faces of the three original Champions, along with Karkaroff and Madam Maxime when they realized that they'd been had, was priceless. Harry burst out laughing, ignoring the looks thrown his way, and wishing that he had a camera to capture the moment.

A flash reminded Harry that Skeeter had one, and he immediately decided to ask her for a copy, enemy or no enemy.

"B – but!" spluttered Karkaroff, twirling his goatee almost compulsively. "This is trickery –"

"It isn't trickery if they cheated in the first place, Igor," said Crouch, his voice suddenly stiff. "It seems our youngest champion was sadly the only one to maintain any semblance of honesty."

Skeeter's quill nearly blazed a trail of fire across her pad, it was writing so fast. For the first time, Harry felt like he'd have a good headline about him the day after.

"Now," said Bagman, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "the real task is still to get a Golden Egg, but it will appear before you only when you successfully manage to Capture a Flag..."

"Guarded by Ifrits," finished Crouch, pulling open the silk bag. A fiery creature flew out on burning wings – its entire body was aflame. "The Arabic Cousins of the Djinn, and Higher Level Spirits of Fire."

Harry's good mood vanished as he beheld the devil like creature, which was also carrying a blazing whip of fire. He felt the icy sensation of raw fear in his stomach, and suddenly found himself wishing for his Chalice immensely.

"When the whistle blows," said Crouch, "you will all walk out to the lawns and take in your surroundings as best as you can. On the second whistle, the Ifrits will descend, and then you have to find your way to the Flag. Lowest time and no harm will result in a perfect score, irrespective of how you manage it. Points will be taken for shoddy spellwork, injuries, and for taking excess time. Any questions?"

"No?" he said, now leering again. "Good. And before I depart," he continued, "might I leave you with the little thought that _cheaters never prosper?_"

Despite everything, Harry couldn't help but snort at his words, resulting in ugly looks from the competition. Dumbledore's eyes merely twinkled.

...o0oOo0o...

The four Champions stood outside on the grassy lawn, and Harry was gratified to see that even he had a core group of supporters. Ron and Hermione had still decided to sit with the Hogwarts students, showing neither him nor Cedric favouritism, but merely watching the task.

He ignored the stab of anger he felt, and concentrated on memorizing his surroundings. Off in the distance, he could see the grinning devil-like creatures, brandishing their whips mockingly in their direction.

_Fleur_,he reasoned,_ could have an advantage in this Task thanks to her Veela heritage._ The Beauxbatons Champion was still looking uncomfortably pale, though.

Harry stared at himself on the huge magical screens that had been set up in the area, one for each of the Champions. He wondered what the weaknesses of these creatures could be, and came up with the most obvious one – water.

Which meant that he had to get to the Black Lake.

When the second whistle blew, and the others took off in the same direction as him, he realized that they'd come to the same conclusion as him.

"-And they seem to be heading for the Lake together, to exploit the Ifrits' weakness!" Bagman had begun his commentary, but Harry tuned him out.

The four champions made their way down to the shore of the lake, and stopped short.

Right in the middle of the Lake, in a small island that was completely bare except for a few trees and shrubs, was the Golden Flag. A narrow neck of land, connected to the Forbidden Forest, joined it with the mainland.

They'd lingered too long, though, as a huge fireball struck in their midst, and they dived away from the openly laughing spirits. A rain of fire began upon them, and Harry had to hastily cast the _Glacius_ charm to throw up a rudimentary shield of ice.

It began melting in moments though, in which time Viktor Krum had been able to get off a spell. His jet of water was intercepted by a wall of fire, and a burst of steam was the only indication that the attack had ever been made.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, and instinct took over. Reinforcing his shield, he took off running towards the Forest for cover. Since the only way to the island was through the Forest, he knew that there would be a trap set up for them; but he had no immediate option.

He angled his path and put on a burst of speed as a whiplash of fire struck to his left, charring the grass around it for a healthy few feet.

He nearly faltered when he saw that there was only the Black Lake before him now, before the note from the morning came back to him.

Throwing up a prayer to his future self, he closed his eyes, and kept running towards the vast stretch of water before him.

Harry suddenly felt a curious stinging sensation in the scar in his arm where the Basilisk had bitten him. Before he had time to think of it, though, a shiver raced up his spine, and he let out a near serpentine hiss of pleasure.

A second, baser instinct took over.

He'd run out of land, and he opened his eyes as he gave a flying leap. He bypassed earth and made his way over water. Everything slowed down to a snail's pace, and he was suddenly flying downwards towards the surface of the water at hyper-slow motion.

He instinctively kept his right foot completely perpendicular to the surface of the water, bracing for impact. His leg hit, a ripple of water exploded out in slow motion in all directions, and he could literally feel a pocket of air created beneath his foot, applying a reactionary force to his foot.

He angled himself forward, and pushed back with his foot, and then placed another foot, and then another...

Everything sped up almost comically, and Harry took off running so fast that his feet were a near invisible blur.

"LOOK AT THAT!" Bagman was roaring, "_Will you look at that?!_ Our youngest champion is _running_ on water, I wouldn't believe it unless I was seeing it for myself, ladies and gentlemen. This is magic you've never seen before, witches and wizards!"

Harry, meanwhile, was currently entertaining none of these thoughts. He was only wondering _how_ the hell he'd managed this feat.

He had no time to think, though, as an Ifrit came out of nowhere towards him. He could sense its hestitation, though, and without missing a beat, he lifted his wand, and Banished a huge wave of water towards the Spirit.

The poor Ifrit was left with no time to react, a wall of steam almost blinded Harry as fire collided with water, and the defeated Ifrit was sent flying back. It crashed mightily into the water, before two of its kind descended to save it from certain death.

Harry stuttered a bit as his strength started giving out, his legs felt like they'd run miles instead of yards. His magic felt decidedly weaker, too, and a sense of dread filled him.

A final stutter, another, and another; and he'd broken through the wall of vapour before him and crashed spectacularly into the island. He rolled for a good few seconds before he skidded to a halt under a tree.

Pulling himself up, he almost staggered before righting himself. A smirk graced his face as he suddenly felt a shadow on his face and looked up to see the waving flag.

Standing taller now, he turned towards the bank, where Ifrit and Champion alike had paused momentarily to watch the first triumph of the Champions. The elder wizards and witch watched in desperation and humiliation, with burned cheeks and smoking clothes, as their aspirations of winning the task were pulled out from under their feet.

Harry planted his foot firmly around the ground, wrapped his hand around the stem of the Flag, and gave a mighty heave.

As soft loam gave way, and Harry lifted the flag into the air with a triumphant flourish and a huge grin on his face, the roar of the crowd almost sent ripples across the surface of the Black Lake.

And whispers, whispers began amongst the people anew...

About Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

...o0oOo0o...

**Edit 25/5/13: Yes, I'm back. Before the tomatoes and rotten eggs are thrown my way, I confess that I lost interest in my story some time back, not least because I started getting heavy criticism and some negative reviews. But then I realized that those reviews were meant to help me, because I have not received a single flame so far, _only constructive criticism._ Everybody who left some, thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I'll be the first to admit I cringed when I reread the story and realized how shallow it had become. I've already fixed parts of it, but kept some integral to the plot – yes, that means the infamous Time Turner thing is now out, so you may want to go and read that again. I haven't tweaked everything yet, but it's a start. Also, my characters are – hopefully – more complex, with several – again hopefully – sides to them. I can only hope this goes over well with you...if not, bring on more criticism. I can only get better with time and help, I guess. Sorry for holding out on you guys for so long. **

**Since it's my final year at school, I can't promise a regular schedule, but I'm not abandoning this. No way, not my very first fanfic idea ever.**


	2. The Legend Begins in B-Minor

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. My intellectual property belongs to the robot that's taken over my brai – these are not the droids you are looking for.**

**Note: Come 2013, my new penname will be Warlord1096. Just reminding you folks.**

**Chapter 2: The Legend Begins in B-Minor**

"Damn thing," Harry muttered as he pored over _Adventurous Spells for Adventurous Wizards_, or rather tried to. His scar was hurting periodically again, and he could _tell_ that Voldemort was anticipating that something rather big was about to happen. He rubbed the lightning bolt shaped mark on his forehead, but it did him no good at all.

He noticed Krum eyeing him out of the corner of his eyes, and tried to marshal his face into a neutral one. He resisted the urge to reach up and rub the lightning bolt shaped mark; at this stage in the Competition, giving away any weakness could mean giving away the trophy – something which Harry had no intention of doing.

_But why was the blasted thing hurting so much?!_ He asked himself. The Basilisk's eyes had destroyed the bit of Voldemort in the scar –

Hadn't it?

Getting up, he walked to the end of the aisle and turned right before he ended up at the section he wanted. Looking up the books, he successfully located the one he wanted.

Pulling it off the shelves, he flipped the leather bound book open to the first page, where it read _The Sorcery in Snakes._ Turning to the section on Basilisks at the very end, he began to read through the entire paragraph.

_The King of Serpents...the males have plumes to distinguish them from the females...extremely powerful hide..._it was all standard stuff.

_The eyes of the Basilisk are perhaps there greatest weapons, as a single glance from the King of Serpents can kill any living creature._

Harry disagreed there as he remembered his second year, and thanked the heavens that nobody had died in the fiasco. Mrs. Norris had seen the Basilisk's reflection in the water, Colin had seen it through his camera, Justin through Nearly Headless Nick (who was already dead), Hermione and Penelope through mirrors.

It was sheer, dumb luck; as McGonagall would have put it, that everyone escaped with their lives.

He was suddenly startled out of his thoughts as someone collided with the bookshelf behind him. Looking around, he found only a non-descript Slytherin girl staring at him, and he was surprised to find no hostility in her gaze.

The sharp clicking of heels told him Madam Pince was on her way to investigate, and he took off running swiftly through the bookshelves back to his seat. By the team he'd turned around and searched for her, the girl was gone.

He shook his head; he had better things to worry about then the behaviour of some teenager; or even worse, a hormonal teenager. His thoughts drifted back to the Chamber of Secrets, and how everybody, even Harry, had escaped Death by the skin of their teeth.

He suddenly stopped short, his eyes widening. His heart seemed to rise into his chest and start pounding a mile a minute as he went over the list . Norris had seen the Basilisk's reflection in the water, Colin had seen it through his camera, Justin through Nearly Headless Nick (who was already dead), Hermione and Penelope through mirrors – and the thing in Harry's scar...

_The bit of Voldemort in Harry's scar had seen it through Harry's eyes._

Harry slumped into his chair with a groan, his head in his hands. He could feel his scar against his hand, warm to touch, almost pulsing with some strange, perverted fervour. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed, and the worse the conclusion he reached.

The bit of Voldemort in him...it was _alive._ It had somehow protected him from the Basilisk's deadly gaze, but it had lost its power in the process. It was still there in his head, nevertheless – petrified, maybe, but _there._

He slumped into his chair, unable, even unwilling to hide the defeated expression on his face. He heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, and the sound of footsteps on the floor.

He looked up to see Viktor Krum looking at him with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you all right?" he asked, his beady black eyes looking Harry up and down.

"Fine," said Harry, not willing to go into details, "I'm fine."

Viktor looked at him impassively for a long moment, before he nodded. "Very vell," he said, "congratulations on your performance in the Second Task. You did very vell."

"Thanks," said Harry, "you too, you completely deserved at least the second place," and he was completely honest about it.

"And yet it was you who got it," mused Viktor, "not many people would have gone into a cave full of Dragons to rescue a competitor's treasure."

"You say treasure like Gabrielle Delacour was a thing," replied Harry distastefully. "She should never have been involved in the Tournament, and it was a terrible mistake on the part of the officials to allow her to be dragged away inside the Dragons' lair."

"I meant no offense," said Krum, raising his hands. "Though the Dragons did perceive the girl as a treasure."

"I know," said Harry shortly, "she gave off a unique magical aura, and Dragons like collecting magical items as their personal treasure."

"Indeed," acquiesced Krum with a nod of his head. "You are well read, Harry Potter."

Harry nodded, but almost fell over as his head drooped.

"You need rest, Potter," Krum said, obviously concerned about his fellow champion. "Maybe you should go the Hospital Wing and ask for a Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine," Harry said, before his eyes focused on something at the far end of the table.

It was Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect and Percy's old girlfriend.

_What's she doing here?_ Harry wondered, _didn't she graduate last year?_

And then she shifted slightly, and Harry's mouth fell open in shock. Next to her, pouring over a dusty tome, was Hermione.

Except it was the Hermione of two years back, clutching a mirror in her hand fervently and looking around in fear. They were reading up on the Basilisk, Harry was sure of it; it was the very same thing he had been reading about seconds ago.

Suspicion started to trickle in his mind, before he scuffed his toe on one end of the shelf and Hermione-from-the-past immediately looked up, her eyes wide.

Harry turned away so quickly that he almost gave his neck whiplash, taking cover behind the end of the shelf. Ignoring the bewildered look on Krum's face, he quickly gathered up his books and took off at a dead run towards the Room of Requirement.

...o0oOo0o...

Harry sat on his bed in the Room of Requirement, clutching his pounding head and trying to make sense of how his life had descended into the depths of madness in the extent of a single evening.

The bit of Voldemort in his scar was still there. It was alive. He was still part of a Tournament in which he'd been entered by an unknown enemy. And he was gaining random flashes of events that had happened in the past somehow.

_But they're just visions, right? _Harry asked himself, even though he remained largely unconvinced of the fact himself. He had known for sure that the sequence with Hermione and Penelope had actually happened, which meant he was seeing things that had already happened in the past.

Which meant...he was getting affected by using the Time-Turner continuously.

Harry groaned and flopped back onto the pillows, his headache getting worse. Something tinkled under him, and he shifted and reached under his back with his hand.

He pulled out the tiny, golden time-turner by the end of its long chain. For a long second, he just stared at it, hypnotised, watching the swirling sands within, and the rotating outer shells. Was it just him, or had some of the sand escaped the hourglass?

Almost as if drawn by an invisible force, his hand seemed to reach out to cradle the two glass vials joined at their apex. His eyes suddenly widened as he saw something else.

On the wall before him, the clock was slowly counting down minutes until nine o' clock.

Only it was going far, _far_ too slowly. He watched as the second hand almost seemed to crawl past the numbers, going through its motions at a snail's pace.

Entranced at the sight, he got off the bed, time-turner forgotten, and approached the clock. Without warning, the second's hand jumped into action, and began spinning around at a ridiculous speed, the minute hand matching its pace.

Harry jumped back in shock, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest. He stared back at the time-turner...was it his imagination, or was it glowing slightly?

He turned back to the clock, and it was another second – _minute?_ before he realised what he was seeing. The hands in the clock were jumping back and forth strangely, at 3 one second, and at 1 the next. He couldn't tell if the time was jumping forward, or whether it was reversing, or just flowing eratically...

A mixture of panic and excitement flooded in his stomach. At a simple command from him, the room suddenly extended to twice its original proportions. The clock was suddenly far away, he squinted to get a good look at it.

It was working all right, he surmised. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he started walking towards it, hands outstretched. The second he was within five feet of it, the erratic behaviour started again.

Harry backed off quickly, his eyes the size of galleons. He stared at his hand, refusing to believe what he'd just seen.

The connotations of it hit him, and this time, excitement overtook panic. He outstretched his hands again, aiming at the clock, and willed it to stop.

He gave a delighted grin, like a child discovering a new toy, when it paused immediately –

And then he was blasted off his feet, landing harshly on the floor. Raw pain overtook his body and he screamed, thrashing about on the floor like a drowning man. His right arm was on fire, and he clawed at it, trying to even pull it off to end the hurt somehow.

And just as suddenly as it had started, the pain was gone, leaving him gasping and twitching on the floor.

His eyes felt like there were two-ton weights tied to them, the same for his limbs. Without warning, he felt his brain stutter down to a sluggish speed, and before he knew it, he was unconscious.

A tiny golden spark jumped from the top of his middle finger on his right hand, before sinking into his skin. The spark made its way up his arm, leaving a jagged scar in its wake. It stopped near his elbow, until only a long, twisted golden line remained.

...o0oOo0o...

Several hours later, he was walking down the corridors to try and make his way down to the library and read up on his condition. He had been shocked to discover the scar along his arm, and was now doing his best to ignore the pain it was causing him.

His vision swam dangerously again, and he had to rest against a wall to stabilise himself. Almost immediately, the scene before him changed, until he was looking at another familiar scene from almost fifty years past.

He watched as Tom Riddle walked along the corridor, muttering to himself as he hatched his plan to frame Hagrid for the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's heart froze for a second as Riddle turned towards the spot where he was standing for a long second and narrowed his eyes.

And then he was gone, leaving Harry to slide down the side of the wall weakly and come to rest on his haunches. He could barely make out a few people coming towards him, but another scene appeared before he could do anything.

The Basilisk appeared from behind the students, its forked tongue reaching out to taste the air as it -

Harry screamed, backing away from the apparition but finding only solid wall behind him. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until he knew firm grips on his body, and then darkness.

...o0oOo0o...

Harry awoke with a groan, the smell of clean linen and brewing potions assaulting his nose.

Harry immediately knew he was sunk, having grown acquainted with the Hospital Wing and its myriad smells from his time spent there over the years. He cracked open his eyelids slightly, and found himself looking at the hazy outline of the Matron.

He gulped, shutting them again. Even with his limited vision, he could see that Madam Pomfrey was _not_ happy.

"You can pretend to be asleep for however long you want, Mr. Potter; Madam Pomfrey will still notify me when you finally decide to give up this silly charade."

_McGonagall,_ thought Harry in terror. The Transfiguration Professor's voice was extremely calm and cool, which led Harry to believe that his death was just around the corner.

He cracked open his eyes resignedly, Madam Pomfrey placed his glasses on his nose and everything came into focus.

McGonagall was standing to his right and Pomfrey to his left, and his assessment had been correct – he gulped slightly – neither of them looked too chuffed.

His eyes darted reflexively towards the door and he mapped out the distance to it – he could make it if he took off at high speed.

"Don't even think about it," warned McGonagall, and he deflated. Her voice was _ice._ "What. Exactly. Were. You. Thinking?"

Pauses between words...the situation was detoriating rapidly.

"I wanted to win the Tournament?" he half-stated, half-asked.

He winced as McGonagall exploded. "Win the Tournament? _Win the Tournament?!_ Of all the excuses you could give me to justify _stealing_ a time-turner from the Deputy Headmistress' office, you tell me that you did it to _win the Tournament?!_ You did that for a bit of glory and fame – you of all people?!"

Harry shrunk in on himself, feeling like a particularly naughty child caught in the act of making mischief.

Only it seemed like he had crossed all boundaries this time.

McGonagall's nostrils were flaring like a dragon's, and her lips went so thin that they were visible as nothing more than a line.

"Potter, you gained such a level of exposure to the time-turner that you went into Grade 1 Sand Poisoning!" exploded McGonagall, her face a colour of red that would have put her house banner to shame.

Despite himself, Harry was interested by her words, but wisely decided not to ask her about it - she did not look like she would be receiving questions well currently.

Thankfully, he was saved from the imminent nuclear detonation by none other than the Headmaster, who had chosen that moment to walk into the room.

"Alas, Harry," said Dumbledore, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, "I had not expected to see you in the Hospital Wing this time of the year, least of all for this it really worth it to toy with something so dangerous? Time and magic have never really gone hand in hand, and our research into time travel is still woefully inadequate."

"It wasn't that bad, Professor," Harry began, but shut up quickly at the flat looks both adults sent him.

"Unless I am mistaken, you started hallucinating about events that had already occured, but you could not explain?" Dumbledore asked.

At Harry's tiny nod, he sighed. "That was exceedingly foolish of you, my child," he said, making Harry cringe. The Headmaster had _never_ admonished him, ever. "The consequences might have been severe and even irreversible if you had used it without any discrimination," Harry's heart sank, because that was exactly what he had done, "_especially_ with your special circumstances," the Headmaster finished, his eyes flitting towards Harry's scar and leaving no doubt as to what he was talking about.

Harry gave another nod, before his eyes fell on his arm and the jagged, glowing scar on it with its encrusted edges...edges encrusted with_ sand_, he realized in horror.

"And what about my scar?" asked Harry, his eyes fixated to his still glowing arm.

"Scar?" asked Dumbledore, surprise showing in his blue eyes. "Has it been hurting again?"

Harry's head shot up in disbelief. There was a moment's silence before Harry realised that nobody except him could see his scar. He raised his arm to ruffle his hair, exposing the scarred side on purpose, but there were no strange reactions from the adults.

_Either they really can't see it,_ though Harry, panicking mildly again, _or they're brilliant, unconcerned actors. For the sake of my sanity, I'll believe the former._

"Slightly," he said, and Dumbledore frowned.

"Enough!" said McGonagall, who was now red in the face. "Mr. Potter, you stole from my very desk, you illegally used a time-turner, and you used it to an extent that you developed beginner stages of schizophrenia! Another few days and you would have been beyond saving!"

"How was I saved?" Harry wondered aloud, and Pomfrey answered.

"You were screaming like a madman in the corridor, Potter," she said dryly, "Several students brought you to me here in time to stabilize you, though it took me some time to work out the symptoms. Not many wizards have boasted of time-travelling sickness, Mr. Potter, most die from strange, _painful_ mutations within a week." Harry winced, and at the same time a wave of terror filled him. When you were _lifting_ the device from its original place, did you think to take the manual that is handed out to the students as well?"

"There's a manual?" asked Harry, before he could stop himself.

"Indeed," said McGonagall, "which I think you should copy out 50 times when you're recovering here, Potter!"

"50 times?!" protested Harry, but McGonagall cut him off.

"It's much less than what you deserve. Had you not been Triwizard Champion, I would have suspended you from the school at once, handed you over to the Ministry and let them have their way with you!"

"I wouldn't have stolen it if I weren't Triwizard Champion," muttered Harry sullenly under her breath, but McGonagall caught it.

"How dare you talk back to me, Potter – as it is, you're facing detention for the rest of the year, and –"

Harry decided to do damage control fast. Since accepting his mistake wasn't getting him anywhere, and denial would probably extend his stay in the Hospital Wing, he took the only remaining option – bribery.

"You wouldn't do that, Professor," he said soothingly, and he hurriedly continued when she huffed and opened her mouth again, "that would ruin my chance of winning the Tournament –"

"I don't care about any blasted Tournament Potter!" McGonagall suddenly blushed a bit and turned to the Headmaster, who was inspecting the ceiling intently.

"Oh," he said, turning and raising his bushy eyebrows, "were you talking to me, Minerva? I seem to have developed an annoying little tic in my ear which has rendered me deaf for a few minutes."

McGonagall looked slightly embarrassed for a few seconds; Pomfrey's lips gave a tiny twitch upwards.

Harry seized that opportunity to speak. "Come on, Professor," he pleaded, "you know what this would mean for Gryffindor House!"

McGonagall stiffened and turned towards him, but Harry soldiered on. "In the seventeen times Hogwarts has participated in the Tournament, Gryffindor has somehow never won the Tournament _once_! Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff – they've all won it, but the best house in the school, widely accepted as the bravest one," he decided to play on her Lion pride a bit, "how is it possible that we've never won it once? Imagine, Professor," he said, glad to see a gleam in her eyes, "the inaugural version of the Modern Triwizard Tournament, and Gryffindor finally lifting the cup...I'm already in the lead after the first two tasks."

He coughed slightly as he finished, and Pomfrey pushed a glass of water into his hands. He drank gratefully, keeping an eye on McGonagall – who seemed to be wrestling with herself - and keeping his fingers mentally crossed.

"Your lines will still stand," she finally said with a sigh, "and I'll be taking the time turner back. By no means does this decrease the severity –"

But Harry only grinned, knowing he was off the hook for now. His gaze fell on his arm, and his grin vanished.

What was he to do about that?

Professor McGonagall drew his attention back to her, though. "I will be leaving now, Mr. Potter, I daresay the Headmaster has some words to say to you about the sheer foolishness of time travel. I hope, for your sake, that you do win this Tournament, because I promise you I will have your hide otherwise!"

"Don't worry, Professor," said Harry, with much more confidence than he was feeling, "I won't lose, not now."

"See that you don't, ."

...o0oOo0o...

He was _so_ close to keeping his promise to McGonagall. The remains of a charred Acromantula twitched feebly behind him as he took off running.

Fleur was down for the count, and it was between the three boys now.

Incanting the Four-Point spell and taking a turn west, he was rewarded by the sight of the glowing blue cup at the end of the lane. Without wasting a second, he took off running like a madman.

Vines lashed out at him from the sides of the maze, but he paid them no attention, calling forth bursts of fire to burn them into nothingness. A Bundimun suddenly burrowed its way out from the ground, but he send a _Stupefy_ its way, stunning it effectively.

Knowing that any contact with the creature would poison him, stunned or not, and that he couldn't leap over it, he decided to try something he'd only seen in one of Uncle Vernon's ridiculous action movies.

Without pausing to think, he cast mild sticking charms on his shoes, and ran towards the wall of the maze rather than the path. He laughed in exhilaration as his feet hit the hedge, kept going, and he executed a perfect lateral wallrun, landing on his knees and stabilising himself with his arms – Dudley would be so jealous.

Without even stopping to take in the sheer brilliance of what he'd just done, he kept running, boosting himself from his crouching position like the athletes did on television. He was rewarded by a mild catapult effect, and he burst into the centre of the maze, his hand outstretched towards the Trophy –

He sensed something coming at him from the side and immediately ducked and rolled away, his wand out and steady.

Krum and Cedric were duelling ferociously, each of them trying to prevent the other from reaching the plinth, while simultaneously shimmying towards the cup.

He dodged another Stunner from Krum, and retaliated with a _Petrificus Totalus,_ watering down his arsenal of spells.

He quickly changed minds, though, as an army of ice spears came his way, which he was forced to melt with an overpowered _Incendio_. Without breaking stride, he thrust his wand forward into the mist and spun it in an outward clockwise spiral, and incanted a Transfiguration spell, sending knives back towards the two champions.

Both Krum and Cedric were forced to dive away as the knives embedded themselves in the hedge, and Harry lunged towards the cup. A last minute Bludgeoner from Cedric forced him to raise a shield and turn away.

Harry grunted in frustration, and a Cutter from Krum snagged him at that precise moment. He lurched forward and sank to his knees next to Cedric, who was managing to duel Krum from his position on the ground.

"We need too..." grunted Cedric, pausing as he hit Krum with a stray Leg-Locker, "take out Durmstrang together..."

Harry took a fraction of a second to mentally applaud Cedric's usage of the school's name instead of Krum, thus trying to present him as a common enemy to the both of them.

"Yes," Harry nodded, "let's take out Krum together." And he burst into action, sending two Stunners Krum's way, before following with an _Expelliarmus_.

Cedric conjured a wolf to send Krum's way, who'd somehow managed to dodge the Stunners – the Bulgarian Seeker shied away from the animal and straight into the path of Harry's spell, and he was blown back into the maze, his wand flying out of his hand.

"That's one powerful Disarmer," whistled Cedric in awe, edging towards the Trophy, as Harry finished Krum off with a Stunner and summoned his wand, using it to send up red sparks.

Harry didn't listen, opting to dive for the Cup instead; at the same time as Cedric leapt for it.

"You treacherous prat," growled Harry as they landed uncomfortably on solid ground.

"By hook or crook, Harry," said Cedric a tad apologetically, before he narrowed his eyes. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Porktey?"

"No," said Harry, his brain catching up with his surroundings. "Cedric, we need to get to the Cup at once, it's a trap –"

"Wands out, d'you reckon, then?" asked the Hufflepuff champion, but a high cold voice shattered the silence of the night air before Harry could reply.

"_Kill the spare!"_

Harry dove towards Cedric, but it was too late – the Killing Curse flew at unimaginable speeds. Closing his eyes, he did the only thing he could do – he willed time to pause.

The scar on his arm lit up, and he almost threw up as a strange sensation overtook him, something inhuman and ungodly in its power -

Cedric's eyes widened as the Killing Curse seemed to flicker and falter midway in its path, and his own eyelids seemed to take ages to lift up. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was tackled heavily by Harry, sending them flying into a headstone.

Harry fell off from atop Cedric, his body writhing and twitching with unimaginable pain, his mind assaulted by the sheer _unnaturalness_ of what he'd just done. He clawed at his arms, drawing blood with his nails, as he fought to get the words out.

"Pretend...dead." he stuttered, "Ask power...give." With those cryptic words, the dark haired wizard succumbed to unconsciousness.

Cedric chanced a quick glance at the cloaked figure in the shadow, realizing that he was too far away to truly make out what was going on. Another Killing Curse sped his way, but he relaxed as it sailed past, off-target.

Deciding to make the best of his situation, he hit himself with a weak Full Body-Bind, praying that he could pass off as dead. Trying his best to not at all, he watched as the hooded figure came into view, carrying in his arms –

It was an abomination of flesh, a Devil in a child's body. Cedric's eyes widened infinitesimally, but he was thankful that the fat wizard with an air of general incompetence about him dismissed him as dead.

He was even more thankful that he couldn't move his mouth to make any sounds as the devil-child came into view, because Cedric Diggory would have been screaming by then.

...o0oOo0o...

_He was walking through the forest when he had come across the strange pedestal, and he was currently kneeling on the earth and examining it intently._

"_Harry Potter," a voice spoke up from behind him and he jumped, turning around and drawing his wand. A palomino centaur stared down at him, mild amusement playing on his features._

"_Firenze," grunted Harry in acknowledgement, recognizing the centaur who'd saved him from Voldemort in his first year, but not liking the manner he'd crept up on him._

"_Harry Potter," repeated Firenze, inclining his head, "Mars is bright tonight."_

"_So I've heard," replied Harry grumpily, "repeatedly."_

"_Yet he grows brighter still, Harry Potter. Do you know what it is you have discovered?"_

"_Some kind of ritual spot," said Harry, his gaze drawn back to the golden platform on the Forest floor. It was made up of three interlinking circles, with runes inscribed around the edges."_

"_It is Light Magic of a very old kind, Harry Potter, the kind that requires sacrifice," said Firenze, and Harry's eyes lit up in excitement. Here, at last, was some tangible evidence that there was an opposing force to Dark Magic, something to combat Voldemort with when he would seek Harry out again._

"_The circles are a sign of infinity," continued Firenze, "and three must stand within them, to complete a holy trinity. The user, his ally, and his greatest mortal enemy."_

"_And it does what?" asked Harry, his gaze firmly on the ritual site now._

"_The Hogwarts Library houses many secrets, Harry Potter," said Firenze, "search there and your quest will bear fruit. Hasten, because Mars grows ever brighter."_

"_That's it?" asked Harry, frustrated. "You tell me that and leave me hanging? Can't you even give me a hint as to what it is?"_

_Firenze looked at him for a second, tilting his head to the side. "What would you do with such a device, were I to tell you what it is?"_

"_I dunno," muttered Harry rudely, "make Mars a bit less bright, so you can stop commenting about it and give me some straight answers instead?"_

_Firenze was visibly amused at his answer, though Harry could make out hints of approval on his face, too._

"_Magicus Extremos, Harry Potter," said the centaur as he turned away, "Magicus Extremos."_

...o0oOo0o...

Harry came to and found himself looking at a pair of crimson eyes, set in a skeletal, snake like face.

He was standing face to face with his mortal enemy, the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Harry Potter," whispered Voldemort, his slit-like eyes roving over Harry's face curiously. "My fellow Death Eaters!" he said, turning away from Harry, who realized with a jolt that there was an entire circle of hooded wizards around him, "This boy who stands here now – he was claimed to be my downfall!"

"My lord," spoke up one of the Death Eaters, "we cannot help but wonder, how you managed this miracle, how you managed to come back to us?"

"Ah, Selwyn, my friend," said Voldemort, "this is a story whose beginning, and whose end, lie with our guest of honour here –"

But besides noting the name of the Death Eater, Harry wasn't paying attention to Voldemort's speech. Trying to ignore the splitting pain in his forehead, he took in his situation and somehow kept himself level headed enough to plan.

A dash of relief shot through him as he recognized the warmth of his wand in his arm strap – Wormtail, the idiot, had taken Krum's wand instead.

He wriggled slightly, doing his best not to attract the attention of any of the wizards before him. Wormtail, he was interested to note, was sniffling in the corner with what looked like a silver arm.

The wand loosened from the rudimentary strap he'd made himself, and he only just managed to catch it before it slipped through his fingers. Looking down, he found Cedric staring back up at him, and wondered why Voldemort hadn't sensed him yet.

_Perhaps the Dark Lord wasn't at full power yet, _thought Harry. It would definitely make things easier for him.

He gave a long blink at Cedric, who answered with a blink of his own – the elder boy was clearly panic-stricken.

Noting with a detached sense of interest that Voldemort was currently speaking to his Death Eaters about love, or how useless it was; Harry concentrated on the task at hand.

With a quiet whisper of _'Serpensortia'_, three long garden snakes slid out of his wand and down the pedestal. At a quick mental command from him, they coiled and uncoiled before they settled down in a loop – their tails inside their mouth, the symbol of infinity. Cedric's eye widened as one of them slid over his legs and Harry winced. The Hufflepuff wasn't exactly part of the circle, but it'd have to do.

Voldemort, however, was strong enough to notice the magic Harry had performed.

He turned, his head tilted to one side like a curious child.

"And why, Harry Potter, must you feel the need to summon snakes of all things?"

A deathly silence fell over the assembled group, and an eager anticipation descended amongst the hungrily watching members of Voldemort's inner circle.

"Protection," spat out Harry, hoping Voldemort would buy the clear lie, "Dumbledore taught me, to extend my mother's charm around me when I needed it. You can't touch me now, you bastard!"

Voldemort smirked, a cruel, ugly smirk."Language, Harry," he chided gently, though his eyes betrayed his true madness. "One might believe that your Mudblood mother had managed to teach you some manners before I ended her life, but it seems otherwise, does it not?"

Sycophantic laughter fluttered through the Death Eaters surrounding them, and Harry struggled to keep his temper.

'_Crucio!'_ the laughter rose as Harry was hit with the Cruciatus for the first time in his life; coupled with the trauma he'd experienced while trying to stop the Avada Kedavra, he was driven to near insanity. He slumped against the bonds binding him to the headstone, barely conscious.

"A taste, Harry?" asked Voldemort, excitement colouring his tone. "Perhaps you want some more?"

"You would know, Harry Potter, if you hadn't been sleeping like a little baby," more laughter rang through the night air, "that I used your blood to regenerate myself tonight. All your taunts and protections are for nought – I can touch you now."

Voldemort stepped forward confidently into the circle, aggravating the pain in Harry's scar tenfold, but then the Dark Lord froze. Mild music started up, piercing the oppressive atmosphere in the graveyard.

Harry somehow managed to push himself into a standing position as the Phoenix song coming from nowhere and everywhere at once bolstered him into action.

"What is going on?" asked Voldemort, who suddenly realized that he was frozen in place. "What music is this?"

Harry couldn't resist an answer, "B Minor, I think," he said with a grin.

Voldemort raised his wand, rage evident on his face.

Harry beat him to it, though. A single drop of blood slid down the fresh cut on his arm and off his hand. He followed its progress through the air, and muttered the two words –

"_Magicus Extremos."_

Voldemort's eyes widened, the phoenix song picked up to a crescendo, Cedric lurched as his Body-Bind was broken to pieces –

And Harry's world exploded in a blaze of light.

...o0oOo0o...

**Author's Note:Right. Explanations if you want them.**

**It's pretty basic. Hermione said people went mad if they used time-turners too much, and this is an example.**

**Let the original Harry be A-Harry. He's using the time-turner to send versions of himself back in time, let's call them the B-Harrys. After some time, he does it so many times that the B-Harrys start believing themselves to be A-Harry, driving them and the original A-Harry to near insanity. Savvy?**

**God, A-Harry and B-Harry. I need a break from studying science. Don't ask me to go deeper into this, please. Just don't.**

**And since the fight starts in B-minor, any guesses as to how it'll end?**

**And finally, wow, guys. Over 100 favourites and nearly double that number of follows. Highest number of reviews I've had for a chapter. Think you can beat that with this one? It's got enough talking points, methinks!**

**Let the reading (wait, you already did that), reviewing and PMing BEGIN!**

**Next update will take time. But it should be out before Christmas, I think.**


	3. The Misery of the Legend

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. Also, the song To Build a Home belongs to The Cinematic Orchestra. **

**Warning: Long author's note at the end, but people who care about pairings should check down there. Also, if you want to see the totally awesome scene where Harry sets something afire and then conjures something totally awesome, just click on the image for the story. My inspiration for the scene. And review ! Completely Harry-centric chapter up ahead!**

**Chapter 3: The Misery of the Legend**

White. That was the first impression Harry had of his surroundings.

_Everything _was white – even the misty, floor like thing he was standing on. It was neither cold, neither hot, but Harry could feel a sense of warmth within him, something that filled him up with a feeling of content.

_This – this was light magic, _he thought, suddenly remembering afternoons spent atop treetops, away from the world, where he had been at peace. The smell of freshly mown grass tickled his nose, and he could feel a soft breeze caressing his face; could feel the pleasant sunlight on his skin.

He could stay here forever, doing nothing, just _being._ He could be the just Harry he sometimes wished he could be, safe from Voldemort, from the Dursleys, from the Tournament, from being –

"**Harry Potter."**He nearly jumped a foot in the air as a rich, deep voice echoed around the place. It was like standing within a cave and hearing echoes bounce back at him, the sound was coming from all directions at once.

"W-Who are you?" asked Harry, feeling slightly unnerved – the voice itself had a presence which unsettled him. "Show yourself!"

"**But I am right before you," **said the voice, sounding amused.

"Where?" asked Harry, whirling around and plunging his hand into his pocket, only to find his wand missing. "Where's my wand?!"

"**You won't need it here, Harry Potter. Tell me, why have you come here?"**

"Who are you?" persisted Harry, panicking slightly now. _The grass, the wind and the sun seemed to have been swept away, and now he was simply standing in a room that stretched to infinity but was filled with a cloying presence, one that made him feel tiny and insignificant._

"**Me? I am many things...I am the alpha, and I am the omega. I am Shiva, the destroyer of worlds, and I am the keeper of the balance. I am in you, around you, with you and without you. I am nowhere, and yet I am everywhere and everything at once."**

"If you didn't want to tell me, you could have just said so," grumbled Harry, rubbing his head and trying to make head or tail of what he'd just heard.

A deep rumble shook him to the very core, before he realized that whoever the entity was, it was chuckling.

"**I like you, Harry Potter. Tell me, what gift have you to offer me?"**

_Gift? _Harry thought wildly, before Firenze's words came back to him. _It is __Light Magic of a very old kind, Harry Potter, the kind that requires sacrifice..._

He gulped, thinking that this was in none of the books he'd read. Then again, most of the people who'd written their accounts of the ritual had been quite fuzzy on the details later, only recounting a vague feeling of fulfilment.

_A gift?_ He thought again.

"**A gift, an ability, a talent unique to you," **mused the voice, and Harry started. It was reading his mind!

"**Indeed. And what might you have to offer me, Harry Potter? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a favour for a favour, because that is the Law of Olde."**

"A moment to think, please..." requested Harry, a bit weakly.

Another earth-shaking chuckle. **"Take all the time you need, for Time dare not enter in this realm."**

So time passed, and Harry thought, wondering what exactly he wanted to, or could afford to give up.

As if helping him along, images began flashing in his mind...

_He was talking to the Boa Constrictor, because he was a Parseltongue, and he had the ability to converse with snakes when he glanced in their eyes -_

_He was struggling to bend time, trying to stop the Avada Kedavra from hitting Cedric -_

_He was running across the Black Lake, by virtue of the power the Basilisk had granted him –_

"**You killed one of the holy trinity,"** said the voice, sounding surprised.

"Sorry?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"**The holy trinity," **repeated the voice, and a huge symbol appeared before him. It was a triangle with three circles at each end.

At the very top was a magnificent phoenix, its wings aflame. It looked nothing like Fawkes, who was tiny compared to the magnificent flaming beast that was at the apex of the triangle. **"The lord of fire and air, the immortal at the apex of the Trinity,"**said the voice.

Another creature appeared in the bottom left corner of the triangle, and the voice spoke again. **"The lord of the earth, and the greatest predator known in this universe or the next."**Harry recognized the huge leopard-like creature from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ though he was sure that none of the Nundus illustrated in the book were quite that large, though they did breathe they same noxious fumes this one was.

And the final circle was filled with a creature that still sent shivers up Harry's spines. He looked at it with unfettered awe, and realized with a jolt that the Basilisk he'd killed had nothing on this creature. **"The lord of water, and the King of Serpents, the Basilisk."**

"**Together, they form the Holy Trinity of the Creature world, the mythical creatures at the very top of the animal kingdom. Nigh invincible in their own element, to kill one is to gain the favour of its domain, and to befriend one is to gain their eternal companionship."**

Harry suddenly found himself understanding why he'd suddenly gained an affinity for all sorts of water spells along with his love for fire ones, and he realized why the Chamber had so many pools and ditches all over the place.

He shivered, wondering what might have happened had the Basilisk truly unleashed his powers, but wrenched himself out of such thoughts. An idea had struck him, one that could benefit him immensely if he pulled it off.

"Great being," he said, feeling that he should be appropriately humble, "I offer not one gift, but two, so that I may gain your favour and gain the power I need to defeat my enemy and save my friend."

"**Is that truly why you seek this power?"** asked the voice, and he rejoiced when he could trace the slightest bits of curiosity in its voice. **"To fight and wage war?"**

"I fight so that I never have to fight again," said Harry, "so that those I love don't have to fight, so that no harm comes to those I care about. Enough people have died to save my life, and I want no more to fall so that I can live."He choked up as he thought of James and Lily's sacrifice, and he promised himself that he would get Cedric out of the graveyard alive, no matter what.

"**Be careful with your promises, Harry Potter, for not all promises can be kept. What are the gifts that you would have me take?"**

"There is great power in my scar, Great One," said Harry, "and it has granted me the ability to speak with snakes, and I feel it has more secrets to give up..." He had no desire to keep a piece of Voldemort within him, and getting rid of it this way would not only be ironic, but highly convenient.

The entire atmosphere of the room changed. Harry shivered as a blast of cold air chilled him to his very core, and suddenly his mind was filled with images of dead, barren wastelands and empty souls.

"**Do you take me for a fool?!" **thundered the voice, and Harry quailed in his shoes. **"You would sully me with this darkness for your own clever gain, and be rid of the burden you are forced to carry by Destiny?!"**

Harry fought against the terrible desire to crawl out of his own skin and run like hell. "All p-power is a burden," he managed to stutter, "whether it be gained by hard work, or be forced upon one by Destiny."

The anger subsided, and he almost cried in relief when he felt warmth pool within him again. Instead, he could now feel an overwhelming curiosity from the being.

"**You are a strange one...but no, this is a gift I cannot accept. What is the other that you propose?"**

Harry held out his hand, showing the golden scar that ran along its length.

"I have not explored this power much,"he said, feeling unnerved again, "but I can bend time to my will for very small amounts of time if I put my entire mind to it. I fear, however, that the power to manipulate time is not one to be carried by humans, for I can feel that it is a force beyond me, beyond all Humanity."

"**Once more you try to get rid of that which scares you, to try and make your path in Life easier." **An audible sigh rang around the room, and Harry's heart sank to his knees. This was it, this was the end then.

"**But I cannot pretend that I am not interested..." **Harry's head shot up, and suddenly his heart was miraculously pounding away in his throat, **"Lady Time and I...have not the best relationship. To gain a measure of control over her, to somehow curb her dance through Universes and dimensions..."**

There was a long, long pause.

"**We have a deal, Harry Potter. Power for power. Use it well."**

Harry felt a burning in his hand, and he suddenly fell to his one knee; his arm was one fire. A golden shaft of light burst out from the long scar, and before he knew it, it was gone, leaving only smooth skin behind.

Fog was descending on the world, a world which he decided he would never again return to.

He dropped onto all fours as a strange heat pooled in his stomach, before it burst outwards, bathing his entire body in power –

The world exploded once more in light, and Harry's eyes shot open to look into Voldemort's red ones once more.

His mind was as sharp and clear as a shard of glass, his body as fit and powerful as a coiled tiger. He could feel the magic pooling in very cell of his body, augmenting his mind, slowing down his perception of the world around him until it was too much for him to bear –

With a primal roar, Harry exploded out of his bindings, a shockwave of magic sending Voldemort rocketing backwards.

The Death Eaters gasped, drawing their wands and stepping forward as one.

"Do nothing!" screamed Voldemort, his eyes wide. "He is mine, only mine! Stay back!"

"Harry –" gasped Cedric, his eyes wide, but Harry paid him no heed. "Get behind me," was all he said, before he unleashed his fury.

Cedric saw the wisdom behind his words – the Death Eaters wouldn't dare send spells his way out of fear of hitting Harry and inciting Voldemort's wrath. The Hufflepuff shivered at the sight of the newly resurrected Dark Lord, and promised himself that the other Hogwarts champion would have his undying gratitude if he managed to get them out of here.

Harry, on the other hand, hadn't let up for a moment. He could _feel_ every bit of magic around him; the spells building up on the tips of the Death Eaters wand, the tendrils of power from Voldemort as he too tried to assess the situation around him.

His arm was still moving forward from the force of breaking free of the ropes. Twitching them slightly, he sent of three Bludgeoning Hexes in quick succession, forcing Voldemort to throw up a shield to deflect them, his eyes wide.

Everything was slowing up and speeding down in bursts, and for a wild second, Harry thought that he'd somehow retained and mastered his control of his time. He realized after a second that it wasn't Time that was moving faster or slower – it was him.

Bolstered with this knowledge, he sent off another burst of spells Voldemort's way, this time nearly half a dozen cutters. He wasn't about to waste time with the more elaborate spells which required complex wand motions, not until Voldemort upped the ante.

He wasn't worried about casting those spells too; the idea of being unable to perform any magic he knew – even the ones he'd only read – seemed laughable right now. He could remember everything he'd read, every spell he'd practiced in clear detail –

Page 369 of _Curses for the Cursed, diagram 7.8.2._ A jerk of the wand to the left, followed by a forceful thrust outwards.

The Bone-Breaking Hex was a near-inferno of yellow instead of its usual jet, travelling through the air at high speeds.

Voldemort conjured up a block of solid bricks to intercept it, twirling and twisting his wand as his shield was shattered to pieces.

Angry bees formed from the pieces of stone, their buzzing sound audible even over the bangs of spellfire.

He waved his wand in a diagonal slash from the bottom right to his left, shouting, "_Coniuro Flamma!_"

A stream of solid fire formed before him, roasting the insects alive; a disgusting smell assaulted their noses.

Harry wasn't done yet, though. Still following the momentum of his last spell, he brought his wand up over his head, lowered it in a full semi-circle and then did a clockwise spiral outwards.

"_Telum exardesco!"_ Flaming arrows shot at Voldemort, who was forced to dive out of the way as the ground behind him blew apart in a spectacular explosion.

Never missing a beat, Harry let his inertia twist him to his left where he felt the oncoming stray spell. With a simple _Protego_, the spell was deflected smartly back, followed by a stunner from Cedric.

"Get the cup!" said Harry, and Cedric gave a terse nod, his face set – he was performing admirably for someone who'd never been in such a situation before. He was a Hogwarts Champion, after all. "Summon it!"

Cedric had felt his own strength take a sharp decline when Harry had enacted the strange ritual, and he'd hoped Voldemort had felt a similar decline. Thankfully, he had enough to perform basic magic; in fact, Harry's very presence next to him was bolstering him, pushing him forward. He would have Apparated them away, but he was taking no chances with. Side-Along was difficult enough without dodging spells, any Splinching could prove fatal for Harry.

Harry twisted around to face Voldemort again, and he was shocked to see the veritable hailstorm of spells coming his way.

He threw his arms out, incanting widely, and he managed to throw up a shield just in time. It was an Auror level spell he'd found while flipping through random books, and marked up just because of the insanely cool illustration depicted on the page.

The air around him seemed to solidify for a moment, and he felt a rush of success when he was sure he'd pulled it off. The Dark Lord's spells collided spectacularly with the A-334 Bunker Shield, sending ripples of clear magic outwards like water where it collided with the shield. The ground shook, Cedric clapped his hands to his ears at the sheer sound it produced, his wand forgotten.

"What is this, Potter?!" shrieked Voldemort, his eyes wide, "what madness have you wrought?"

Harry didn't reply, choosing to go on the offensive. The slightest tone of fear in the Dark Lord's voice was enough for him, near imperceptible though it was. Voldemort was at his weakest right now, and Harry intended to take advantage of it.

This was the wizard who'd killed his parents, who'd killed Lily and James. Voldemort was the reason he had no parents. Voldemort was the reason he had to live with the Dursleys. Voldemort was the reason Harry had spent his childhood in a cupboard. He was the reason that Harry had no friends until he was eleven, the reason why he was under constant scrutiny from the public.

Anger rose in him like a tidal wave, and he showed no resistance as it burst out from his being. A pure ball of white magic sped at Voldemort, who called down crackling Dark Magic to counter it. Plants wilted and the earth grew barren around the Dark Lord, and Harry wondered for a split second how the Muggles would explain this the next morning.

Voldemort suddenly realized that Cedric had his wand pointed at the Cup, and understood what he was trying to do. With a speed and accuracy that emphasized _why_ he was the most feared wizard in several millennia, he sent four Killing Curses at Harry and Cedric's way.

The teenagers were forced to split up as they both dived in opposite directions, rolling away to avoid the green jets.

Harry came to rest behind a headstone, his heart still pounding liquid magma through his veins. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he knew that the boost wouldn't last forever.

An explosion drew his attention, and with a feeling of horror, he realized that the Death Eaters and Voldemort were aiming for the Cup instead of him.

A green spell connected with the Triwizard Trophy, but instead of exploding apart, it simply disappeared. Harry started; of course, the Cup was too old and magical not to have some near-sentient form of defense. He could only hope that it had returned to Hogwarts, and people would investigate when it turned up without either Champion.

_Crack!_ Two tombstones over, Cedric was nowhere to be seen; it seemed the boy had drudged up enough energy to apparate away. Harry swore, the elder boy had Apparated away and left him to fend for himself – so much for Hufflepuff loyalty.

He was on his own now. Silence descended over the graveyard, and Harry knew it was only seconds before Voldemort discovered where he was hiding – he was practically radiating magic.

"Did your power run out, little Harry?" mocked Voldemort, confidence dripping from his voice once more. "Did you finally realize that you are no match for Lord Voldemort, boy? Are you finally tired of this, do you want it to end?"

He heard soft footsteps approaching, the sound of Voldemort's bare feet on the grass. "You put up a brave fight, Harry, much better than wizards twice your age. _Much_ better than your father, a waste of Pureblood flesh he was, Harry..."

A wellspring of hate bloomed within him, and Harry leapt out from the cover of the gravestone again.

Voldemort, however, was ready. Harry's eyes widened as he saw a huge, flaming serpent bearing down on him.

For a second, he stared at it, his hand hanging by his side limply. Then he remembered –

_To kill one is to gain the favour of its domain –_

With a flick of his wand and a shouted incantation, a whirlwind of water appeared before him. The fire-Basilisk struck, and it was sucked into the vortex of water, dissipating into the huge sphere of water that formed.

Deciding to fight fire with fire, Harry decided that if he was to go out tonight, he would go out in style.

Another muttered spell, a moment of extreme concentration – a smoky avian creature leaked out from his wand, and he knew that he'd been successful.

A tiny lick of flame winked into existence at the very base of the watery sphere, yet no steam was created. The Death Eaters watched, entranced, as the flames spread over the sphere, setting fire to the_ water_, creating a distorted light show of red and blue. With a final flick, the flames shot up into the sky.

The image of the avian he'd seen less than half an hour ago firmly in his mind, Harry yelled, "_IGNEA AVIS!"_

A phoenix – a gigantic, magnificent phoenix of pure fire shot into the sky, a hundred times the size of Dumbledore's familiar. With a screech that sent raw fire through Harry's nerves, it spread its wings out towards the heavens. Harry stumbled, his strength falling like a rock, until he caught his second wind – only this time, he was burning through his magic at a prodigious rate.

The Death Eaters stopped short, in awe of the sight before them. The Phoenix cast the entire world into a play of flame and shadow, sending stray sparks and motes of fire swirling through the air. The atmosphere around them superheated, sending sweat running down their faces, as its tail swished in the air, propelling itself up.

It rose in the air, like a behemoth from an age long past, and beneath it stood a lonely figure cast in shadow, wand raised towards the Heavens. It was an awe inspiring sight –

Until the Phoenix stilled in midair for a long second, and then _dived._

There was a mad rush to escape the flaming bird, magic forgotten in the moment of panic. Even Voldemort stood still for a moment before he Apparated away to a safe distance. The phoenix crashed into the earth with the force of a couple of giants, shaking the earth and sending the Death Eaters stumbling.

A huge fireball exploded outwards, and screams rent the air as two of the Inner Circle were charred alive in the fire.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, and he suddenly realized what he'd done –

He had no time to think, though, when he sensed Voldemort appear behind him, the Killing Curse on his lips –

Dragging up the last of the magic he was burning through, Harry shouted the first thing that came to his mind –

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_

The red inferno collided with Voldemort's own overpowered spell, and golden flames erupted where they met. Harry's power seemed to diminish by half again, and he sank to his knees, somehow keeping the spell going.

A lattice of golden energy shot out from the point of collision, forming a golden web around the two duellists and raising them into the air.

"Master –"

"Silence!" screamed Voldemort, "stay where you are, he is mine to conquer –"

Harry felt his strength flagging, and his red stream of light started to grow erratic as his eyes drooped shut. And then he heard it, blessed phoenix song-

But he was so tired...

_Don't break the connection._

But he was tired, and he wanted to close his eyes, and just _rest_...

_Don't break the connection._

Harry forced himself up on his legs, concentrating on keeping the spell going. It was then that he noticed the ghostly beads making his way towards his wand, which was vibrating like mad.

Instinct guided him, and he forced the last of his willpower to force those beads towards Voldemort's wand –

The beads slowed, stopped, and then reversed direction towards Voldemort's wand. Th Dark Lord's eyes widened, and he too, began pushing on the beads –

Harry sank to his knees again, trying to keep his mind focused.

_Don't break the connection._

"You will die tonight, Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort, his eyes determined.

_No._ Thought Harry, _No, I won't. Not after everything I did tonight._

Voldemort's eyes widened again as Harry managed to get up again, and for the first time, the fear was clearly visible on his face.

The beads wavered, and Harry began pushing on them once more with everything he had. Sweat poured down his face, his vision blurred, but he kept going –

"Why do you get up again?" asked Voldemort, his voice almost hushed. "Why do you keep fighting, when you know it is impossible to survive?"

"Because I can," said Harry through gritted teeth, and with the absolute last of his energy, he gave a roar and forced the beads into Voldemort's wand.

Harry sank to his knees, not even bothering to look up and see the effects, when his vision began to swim alarmingly.

"Wizard, was he, boy?" he heard a voice say, "you fight him, boy, you've done good so far!"

Screams of pain, and then another voice, female this time, entered his field of hearing. "Hold on, Harry," urged the voice gently, "don't die on us now –"

He'd promised himself he wouldn't die tonight.

_Be careful with your promises, Harry Potter, for not all promises can be kept._

No, this one he would keep, come hell or high water.

He looked up as the world came into focus somewhat, and he was shocked to find himself looking at Bertha Jorkins, who looked to be neither ghost nor alive – neither here, nor there.

"They are coming," she said with a small smile, "they are coming..."

And his question died on his lips when another figure burst out of a shocked Voldemort's wand, and fell to the ground before straightening itself.

The smoky shape of Lily Potter walked towards him with a smile playing on her lips, though her eyes roved over him sorrowfully. "You've been so brave, Harry," she said, and through his ears, her voice sounded like it was miles away. "So brave..."

He felt hot tracks of moisture down his cheeks and he realized that he was crying. Lily reached up to wipe his tears away, but stopped short – both of them somehow knew that she wouldn't be able to talk to him.

"Your father's coming," she said quietly, "he wants to see you...he's so proud..."

And sure enough, a male figure had fallen from Voldemort's wand and was straightening itself now. Harry's heart jumped a few beats at the sight of messy hair and round glasses, at the sight of James Potter looking at him with a sad smile.

"You've done so well, Bambi," and Harry gave a snort at the ridiculous nickname, though the tears on his face fell faster. To hear his own father speak to him like that, whatever he called his son...Harry found his own words stuck in his throat, and he was only able to sob unabashedly at the sight of his own dead parents. "I could not be prouder," but his heart strangely grew heavier at the praise instead of soaring.

Every conversation he'd imagined, every scenario he'd thought of, every reunion he'd dreamed of, everything had been wiped from his mind when he'd seen Lily and James Potter before him.

"You must break the connection," said James gravely, but Harry shook his head wildly. Breaking the connection would mean his parents disappearing, he knew, and he would never let that happen, because he could never have enough of looking at them hungrily through blurred eyes.

"Harry, you must," said Lily, who had her own ghostly tears sliding down her face. "Sweetheart, you must. When the connection breaks, we will be able to linger for a moment, enough for you to escape –"

"Call the cup to you, son," said James, "you are now the Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, it will come to you."

He nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. "Let me come with you," he begged, "please, let me come with you, I'll be good, I promise I will –"

"Oh honey," said Lily, her own tears falling fast and thick, "we can't_, we can't!_You must live, because you have so much to live for, so much to do –"

"We love you, Harry," said his father, and Harry started in wonder, never thinking he would hear those words.

"We love you so much, but you must leave now –"

Other figures had erupted from Voldemort's wand, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. He nodded blindly, but he wished he could stand here forever, irrespective of the Dark Lord he was duelling, and just _be_ with his parents...

"Now," said James, and Harry knew goodbye had come.

"Now!" he half yelled, half choked, and wrenched his wand. The connection vanished and he sagged without the support of the phoenix song, and he concentrated like he had never before on the image of his cup.

He looked up to find the ghostly figures converging on Voldemort, and he swore his parents turned and smiled at the last second.

And then a flash of blue materialised in his hand, and his world was the whirlwind of a Portkey.

...o0oOo0o...

It was three hours later that he was lying in the Hospital Wing, unable to sleep. The official story was that he'd been kidnapped by a group of Dark Wizards led by an insider in Hogwarts, whose identity was still under investigation – Fudge had firmly refused to see the truth.

Moody. It had been Moody all along who'd conducted this entire farce. The man who'd shown Harry what he truly was, who had fanned the fire within him to set himself on the path of legends...

Anger and hate exploded within Harry, but it was far outshadowed by a sense of grief.

It was crushing, overwhelming grief, making his eyes feel heavy again with the feeling of unshed tears.

Legends no longer mattered, not when he'd seen the shades of his dead parents only hours ago. Being known for something other than being the Boy-Who-Lived, in fact, being overtly famous seemed to pale in comparison to having a family, being at peace, and being loved.

He had no family – Cedric's mother was still keeping silent vigil by his bedside, but Harry had been allowed no visitors because he had no immediate family. He would have no peace for some time to come. And love...the only people who'd told him they loved him were dead.

He cursed himself for the ever growing heaviness in his eyes, for the overwhelming need to cry.

Cedric awoke with a gasp two beds next to him, and he couldn't squash the feeling of jealousy within him as his mother took him into his arms and muttered soothingly to him.

"I ran away," muttered Cedric, and Harry could hear the self-loathing and guilt in his voice, "he's only fourteen, and the cup vanished, and there was Voldemort, and I ran away –"

"Hush, dear," said his mother, and Harry could make out her rocking the boy in her arms. "It'll be alright, older wizards have failed before the Dark Lord."

"But he's fourteen," said Cedric in anguish, "you don't understand, the cup vanished –"

"I do, Ced," said Mrs. Diggory, and Harry was amazed to see that her voice held none of the exasperation that Petunia would surely display if it were to be Harry and her in their place. "The cup vanished...drink this, and it'll help you calm down –"

Mrs. Diggory coaxed Cedric into drinking his potion, and Harry quickly shut his eyes when she shifted and he thought she glanced her way. The urge to sleep was overwhelming, but he didn't want to just yet for some godforsaken reason, instinctively knowing that it would be a long time before he would wake again.

Cedric's mother was now singing gently to him, lulling him to sleep. Harry caught the words of the melody drifting his way, and he felt that he'd never heard anything more beautiful, with the exception of Phoenix Song.

_There is a house built out of stone__  
__Wooden floors, walls and window sills_...

A quick tear leaked out of his eyes, but his arms felt too heavy to lift up and brush it away. It tickled on the way down the side of his face, but he was too lost in his thoughts to notice. He'd seen Lily and James Potter tonight; he'd seen his parents, and talked with them.

Another tear leaked out, and he made a sincere effort to stop. It was not to be, though, as the very song seemed to pull out any tears he had hidden within him.

_Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust__  
__This is a place where I don't feel alone..._

He was alone...he was a murderer. He'd killed two men tonight, and he couldn't suppress the intense nausea he felt whenever he thought of it. He was a murderer – what would his parents think?

But they'd said that they were proud of him...

_This is a place where I feel at home..._

He felt his heart give a pang at these words, and he let his eyelids drift close once again. The tears started again, but he made no effort to stop them.

He cried for the loneliness that he'd always feel, for the home that he'd never have, and the parents that he'd never see in the flesh.

He cried for being the Boy-Who-Lived, and not just Harry Potter.

It was a long time before his eyes were dried out of tears, and he fell asleep in his soaked pillow, and it would be an even longer time before he awoke.

**Author's Note: LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE AHEAD.**

**Well, this was even harder to write than Chapter 2, especially because of the ending. Before you tell me that Harry's being angsty/sappy, please bear in mind that he's still a fourteen year old whose life has gone to hell. I won't believe you if you tell me you never cried when you were that age.**

**Oh, and one more thing. The pairing. I was writing this chapter, and editing the end time and again until I realized that it may not go the way I'd originally planned. Everything's changed from the original story, and while Calli's still here, and so is Ginny...I don't know about the pairing. Harry was originally supposed to be a totally badass character and their relationships mayhem, so I don't know how he suddenly became so layered and complex to write. Both Ginny and Calli are flashbang-y {is that even a word?} people, and maybe that's not what Harry wants in the end.**

**So the pairing is in flux, and I'm even enticed to trash it altogether – Harry's internal growth and struggle will be tough enough to write. The legend or the peace?**

**Ginny lovers, don't hate me. Ginny haters...well, I don't know what to say. If you were reading the story for the pairing only...meh, it would have been a waste of time for you anyway. So get rooting for your GIRL - because I write no slash - and it may just work!**

**And finally, reviews are actually the currency on this site. If I get a **_**decrease**_** in reviews, I'll actually think my chapter is terrible, and while Chapter 2 was complex, it wasn't that bed (that reminds me, I'm putting up a minor explanation of the time-turner thing at the end of that chapter, so go check that out if you want to.) I was expecting to be at a hundred reviews in three chapters after the response to the first one, but it seems that it was not to be. But then again, Chapter 4 will be some time in coming, and this chapter had action and emotion enough for some serious reviewing. Time enough, eh?**

**If that hinting didn't get you, just leave a goddamn review on the way out. Any little message makes my day, and the more the better. If you're enjoying the story, should I not enjoy some reviews?**


	4. The Legend's Teacher

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. And only people who own intensely overpowered brain will figure out the glaring hint in this chapter. Just don't let it out in the reviews if you manage to do it somehow.**

**Warning: 2 days after this chapter is uploaded, I WILL CHANGE MY NAME TO WARLORD1096. Please take note of this the next time you get an update. And before you complain, the Magicus Extremos _does_ leave a mark. Harry just can't access it yet - those who've read the original story will understand!**

**Chapter 4: The Legend's Teacher**

The blue glow cast by the Triwizard Cup mingled with the golden light of the Chalice, giving Harry's face a mottled appearance. The wizard in question was staring into nothingness with a pensive expression on his face, a pile of letters unopened before him.

They were from his friends, though friends might not be the correct word in this situation. Supporters would be more like it, because they had firmly remained behind him all through the Tournament, never believing that he had entered it himself for fame and glory, but firm in their belief that he would win.

Of course, some of them, like Neville and the twins, even Ginny Weasley – who'd tacked on a note of her own to the twins' immensely grateful letter – were slightly more than just acquaintances and allies to him. He realized with a jolt that he'd become immensely secluded over the last year, but he could hardly blame himself – he had a life threatening Tournament to deal with.

But the others, whom he had just talked to at the end of the year or in passing when they wished him luck – he'd realized that all they were following was a big name, and the loyalty their families had inculcated in them.

The Patil Twins – he'd even taken Parvati to the Yule Ball, though he'd made it clear it was a one-time thing.

Hannah Abbott – he remembered overhearing her defend him to her yearmates during the Chamber of secrets fiasco, and now he understood why.

Colin and Dennis Creevey – well, that was hardly a surprise, though they _were_ Muggleborns. They were only slightly below Dobby on the Harry Potter fanatics list.

Tracey Davis – a definite surprise, because of her allegiance to the house of Snakes. He remembered she was a half-blood like him, so she couldn't subscribe to the Pureblood Mania that riddled the Wizarding World.

And there were other witches and wizards, some younger to him, some seniors, all of whom had stood behind him during the Tournament, and had written to him after school had given over.

He vowed then and there to write back to every one of them, however paltry his reply would be. With war on the horizon, and Voldemort sure to come after him, he needed all the connections he could get – and he had no illusions about the nature of this correspondence.

What irked him, though, was the absence of letters from Sirius. The Twins had told him Dumbledore had issued a blanket ban on all communication with Harry, something which had only increased Harry's rising anger at the man.

He had understood, grudgingly, why he had to return to the Dursleys every year; he understood the importance of the blood wards. While it irritated him to no end, he had complied with Dumbledore's request.

Hadn't he proven himself in the graveyard? Hadn't he duelled Voldemort to a draw? He had performed feats of magic beyond his age, but Dumbledore had remained unmoved on his decision.

_The power you received from the Magicus Extremos ritual was only temporary, my boy,_ the Headmaster had said, looking pensively out of his window, while Harry wished that the old man would turn around and meet his eyes. _And it was foolhardy of you to seek it out, what would you have done if Magic had not accepted your gift?_

Magic...the _thing_ he'd encountered, was it truly magic?

_Just your perception of it, _Dumbledore had explained, sounding mildly amused.

But in the end, Dumbledore's words had rung true. The boost he'd received was sadly temporary, and he dare not use it again because he had no power to exchange. So he'd returned to Privet Drive, though he was by no means happy with it.

But to be completely cut off from the rest of the world? Harry frowned, he'd honestly expected his godfather to somehow sneak him a letter or two like the twins, but the man had remained mum so far. Aside from a brief Hogsmeade visit last year, and an even shorter conversation over the fire, Harry hadn't seen hide or hair of the man. Of course, he had been there in the castle when Harry had talked to Dumbledore, but he was gone before Harry could truly talk to him.

Harry couldn't help but feel indignant at this, childish though the sentiment may have been. He had broken the law and risked his life to save the man from being sent to prison, and he couldn't send a letter to his own Godson?

_Perhaps he's already lying low with Remus like Dumbledore told him to,_ he thought,_ forgotten about me already, now that he's with his old buddy._

He stood up sharply, not wanting to follow that train of thought.

_Everybody forgot Harry Potter, didn't they?_ He thought bitterly, _everybody forgot him after he killed the Dark Lord and he rotted at the Dursleys, Cedric forgot him when he Apparated away like a coward in the cemetery, Sirius forgot about his godson when he needed his family most..._

Fury rose up in Harry like vomit at that particular train of thought. While his first reaction to his parents' appearance had been grief, he'd cycled through different emotions ranging from desperation to longing, until he'd arrived at the normal teenage standby.

_Anger._ He felt angry at his parents for leaving him alone, at Ron, Hermione and Sirius for doing the same, at Cedric, at Voldemort for stealing his childhoods, at his friends for having what he could never have, at the Dursleys for treating him like a freak –

Harry was angry at the world, and also mildly afraid that anger was the only emotion he seemed capable of feeling nowadays. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was afraid that the anger would take over, and he would end up being like Tom Riddle.

He shook his head wildly, not wanting to travel down that particular path of thought again. His gaze landed on the two letters separate from the pile.

One was from Cedric, which he'd discarded as soon as he'd realized who it was from. He had no desire to read anything the coward had written, just yet.

And the other, was a reply from the venerated Headmaster he had been thinking about only seconds ago. He had written to Dumbledore after thinking for two continuous days after school had ended, asking him to teach Harry magic so he might fight Voldemort.

Dumbledore's answer had simultaneously shocked, infuriated and disgusted Harry. He had refused outright to offer Harry any extra lessons, and though he had given different reasons, none of them rung true to Harry.

The Headmaster didn't want to give Harry lessons, for some reason he was withholding. Furthermore, the man was avoiding Harry. He hadn't replied to Harry's angry answer to the letter, or even to the rather sheepish follow up Harry had sent once he'd calmed down somewhat.

He still couldn't believe that Dumbledore, who he'd always believed would be by his side, was abandoning him now, when he needed him most.

That feeling of loneliness had been rising throughout the past few months – Ron and Hermione, Sirius, now Dumbledore – everybody close to him had drifted apart, leaving him much the same as when he'd started Hogwarts – alone.

He shifted his gaze to the pile of letters next to Dumbledore's and Cedric's.

_Not if I can help it, _he thought. He settled down at his desk, shoving aside the books he'd immersed himself in for the past couple of weeks. He had some letters to write.

...o0oOo0o...

Far away from Harry, Lord Voldemort was caressing his wand, looking at the dead body of the Giant before him. He had been a stray, and could have been useful in Voldemort's army, but he had served another purpose.

The Dark Lord could smell the dissension in his ranks. Only weeks ago, he had been duelled to a stop – even outdueled, one might say, by Harry Potter. He could not let such doubt permeate his ranks –

And what better way to remind the Death Eaters of his power, then to take down a full grown giant before their eyes with no support?

He could now feel the stench of fear upon the air again, overpowering, like it should be in his presence. He'd found over the years that no emotion inspired strict discipline better than fear, and he'd thus ensured that all those beneath him be afraid of him; like they should.

"You see now," he said, "that what happened that night was merely fluke, nothing more than chance. Thanks to _Wormtail's_," he said, sending a Cruciatus the way of the rat-like man, "incompetence, Lord Voldemort was not at his full strength that night. The next time I meet Harry Potter on the battlefield, he shall not escape with his life intact."

The Death Eaters bowed their heads as one, accepting his words as truth. They had just witnessed the Dark Lord kill a giant with seemingly no effort on his part; they were too frightened to do much else.

An amused smirk adorned Voldemort's face as he took this in, and he turned to face his Death Eaters. "We have the Giant blood you will need now, Rookwood," he told the hulking figure standing near him, "there should be no difficulty in your path now."

"Yes, my lord," replied the large Death Eater, "No difficulty at all, my Lord."

"Good, good," said Voldemort, "I daresay our guest downstairs is tiring of her accommodations."

The unexpected prisoner in the basement of the mansion had come as a surprise even to Voldemort, but once he'd managed to torture the truth from her, he hadn't been one to disregard such a golden opportunity. Her race was thought to be extinct, but also one of the most magically powerful to have existed – to find a survivor like her was like finding a diamond in the middle of a forest.

Lord Voldemort knew he was not vain – for vanity was beneath a superior being like him – but he could use the creature in a long forgotten ritual to restore his own looks. Besides, though he would never admit it, this body was a weakness – the bones too brittle, his sight impaired slightly.

So he smiled wider, when Rookwood bowed, "I will begin preparations to move her to the Ministry at once, My Lord," the Death Eater said, "the stone table should be empty in ten days time, and I believe that I will be able to sneak her into the Department of Mysteries to perform the ritual and gain her spirit for you."

"Go with haste, then, Rookwood, and Lord Voldemort will reward you beyond your dreams when you succeed," said Voldemort, "but beware failure, because the consequences will be..._severe_."

He had already lost one of his followers to the wiles of the creature; he couldn't do with losing another.

"I will not fail you, my Lord," said Rookwood.

"See that you don't," said Voldemort, before turning away. He had some preparations of his own to make, as well.

"Wormtail," said the Dark Lord, in a voice of pure honey, "might we have a small discussion about where your late Mudblood friend's family lives?"

After all, Harry Potter's birthday was coming up. It was his duty as Potter's mortal enemy...to _surprise _him.

Drawing his wand, he pointed it at the pathetic excuse for a wizard, and whispering, "_Legilimens!"_

...o0oOo0o...

"**POTTER OR PLOTTER?"**Harry grimaced in disgust as he took in the headline. Crumpling the paper up, he chucked it away from him, before thinking better of it.

_It wouldn't do if a Muggle came upon the Daily Prophet at the park,_ he thought, as he grudgingly went over to pick it up.

Returning to his seat on the swing, he stared down at the barely discernible date on the paper. July 31st, 1995.

It was his fifteenth birthday, and he had received no communication from _anyone_ at all.

"Happy Birthday to me," he muttered. Just like his second year, somebody was blocking all his letters, only this time, he was sure it wasn't an overeager house-elf.

His anger at Dumbledore, who was undoubtedly behind this, grew exponentially. Even Hedwig, whom he'd last sent to Grimmauld Place, hadn't returned.

_You must return to the Dursleys, Harry...It was foolish of you to invoke the Magicus Extremos ritual...I am afraid I cannot give you lessons, Harry, because that would mean taking an apprentice and consequently stepping down from my position as Headmaster...You must enjoy your childhood as much as you can before you are embroiled in this war..._

The paper in his hand had started smoking, he realised, as he thought back to Dumbledore's words to him. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down, lest he set the paper on fire and gain another warning from the Ministry.

He was feeling more and more caged everyday – and like a caged animal, his anger was increasing every day. Most of it was understandably directed at his Headmaster, the man who had no right to interfere in his life, but was doing so anyway.

Despite himself, he sighed. He'd gone over these arguments in his head again and again, until he'd come to one final conclusion – _escape._

Of course, it would be easier for him to run away from the Dursleys if he could escape from the guard that had been subtly following him around all day, even standing outside his house. They were no doubt here under Dumbledore's command, because they had made no move to attack him yet.

Besides, he'd overheard one of them – a female, by the sound of her voice – telling the other that it was her shift of Harry-watch; something which had infuriated him to no end. Dumbledore expected him to forget about the war while there were reminders below his bloody window every minute of the day?

He got up quietly, making sure his wand was in his waistband. Making his way back to the Dursleys, he mentally went over the crude plan he'd cooked up over the past few days.

"Shoot!" he exclaimed, as the sweets he'd been carrying around in his pockets fell out on the garden of Number 4. Bending over to pick them up, while looking around to see if anyone had noticed, he was gratified to see a shimmer near the gate.

Putting all his toffees back where they belonged, he sauntered back into the house, making his way up to his room to pack his things quickly. He prayed that whoever was on guard would eat the lone sweet he'd _accidentally_ left behind.

After all, he had made it specially for them – by pulling out the inducing end of a Fever Fudge and a Nosebleed Nougat and mashing them together until they took on the shape of a respectable, if slightly battered toffee. Whoever ate it was hopefully in for a tough time, which would be enough for him to get out of the back door and make good his escape.

He was just putting the last of his books into his trunk along with his quill and ink bottle, when he was rewarded by the sound of a groan from beneath his window, which was soon followed by the telltale crack of Disapparation.

Grinning widely, he slammed the lid of his trunk shut and hefted his Firebolt. Pulling his Invisibilty Cloak over him, he seized his trunk – grateful for the Feather Light Charm he'd placed on it when it had got too heavy to carry at the end of the last year – and his broom, making his way down as fast as possible, before they sent a replacement guard.

Once he was outside on the lawn, he attached the Trunk to the handle of the broomstick and wasted nary a moment before kicking off smartly from the ground.

Wind soared past his face and his heart seemed to lighten like a balloon as he shot into the air, feeling all his troubles and worries slip away, like they'd been left behind on the rapidly receding ground.

Finally levelling out, he decided to follow the highway north to London, so he could reach the Leaky Cauldron before bunkering down and thinking out the next phase of his plan. He hated not being able to use his wand, because he was sure that his troubles would diminish by half if he were just allowed to use his magic.

With Harry Potter, though, it was never that simple.

He'd been flying north for barely five minutes, when an unnatural chill descended on the air. Heart pounding, he recognized the telltale chill of approaching Dementors.

Veering off sharply to his right, no longer caring if he was flying to London or not, he threw himself flat on his broom, accelerating until he was almost a blur.

The wind cut into him sharply, making his eyes water, but he could not bring himself to care.

_What were Dementors doing near Surrey?_ He thought desperately, doing his best to outfly the demons who should never have been there to begin with.

But the cold wasn't receding at all – if anything, it was growing stronger, like the Dementors were chasing him, and slowly gaining on him. His hand beginning to freeze on his broom, he looked left and right, and then below him, to see where the Azkaban guards were.

There was nothing in sight, which meant...he raised his head in panic and almost instantly went into a dive out of instinct as a Dementor swooped down on him from above. Angling his broom until he was almost vertical to the ground, he shot down so fast he could almost feel the skin over his face rippling.

Another Dementor had joined the chase, and the two of them were following him without any effort on their part, it seemed. They barrel-rolled and levelled out with ease when he barely pulled out from his dive metres from the ground, before shooting forward again.

_Restrictions be damned,_ thought Harry fiercely, pulling his wand out. _I'm taking these down!_

The Dementors were almost upon him now, he could hear his mother screaming again. Brandishing his wand, he incanted, "_Expect-_

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ another figure descended out of the sky, followed by a bounding silver griffin. The ethereal beast chased away the Dementors like they were nothing but minor annoyances, sending the hellish creatures gliding away rapidly.

He blinked, as he realised that the newcomer was one a bike – a very familiar one, he realized, having dreamt about it before. For a brief thrilling second, he thought it was Sirius, come to rescue him, but then his rescuer came into the light, and his hopes were dashed.

He was old, thought Harry, with silver hair like Dumbledore. Unlike the Headmaster, though, his hair had been tied back into a ponytail, revealing a lined face with crow's feet around shining blue eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. His long beard was likewise tied in a weird braid which culminated in two long strips; and he was dressed ridiculously for a man his age, wearing what seemed to be a leather jacket.

All in all, he looked like an older version of the thugs Harry imagined Dudley and his gang would grow up to be.

"Kid, if you're done staring," roared the man, in a deep, gravelly voice, "maybe you'd do me a favour and climb into the sidecar?"

With a jolt, Harry realised he was still under his invisibility cloak. "You can see me?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Do I look like I talk to thin air?!" yelled the man over the wind, his eyes narrowing. "Climb in, before I think better of it and leave you here alone."

Harry drew alongside him and clambered into the sidecar, and the words _Sirius Black_ on the engine of the bike only served to prove that his suspicion was correct.

"How did you get this bike?" he asked, having to shout to make himself heard.

"Won it from the half-giant Hagrid in a game of cards," said the old man, and Harry felt a spark of righteous anger within him. That bike was never Hagrid's to gamble with. "But I think that'll be the least of your worries in a few moments!"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of foreboding rise within him.

His question was answered, though, in the form of a smoke like vapour that appeared alongside the motorbike, sending a shiver down his spine. It solidified, until the body of a person formed in the front –

Skeletal frame, scarlet eyes, a snake-like slit nose...Lord Voldemort had found him.

Harry barely had time to aim his wand before the old man sent the bike into a nosedive, angling away from the Dark Lord. Voldemort raised his wand, and a green jet of light flew at Harry's partner's back, who was forced to veer away.

"Take the handlebars!" shouted the old man, his beard flying about in agitation. "Quick, there's no time!"

Harry did as he was told, and he had just gotten his hands on one of them when the old man vanished with a crack. Terrified, Harry looked around wildly while trying to wrest control of the bike, thinking he'd just been abandoned again.

Another crack, and he turned behind him as he located the direction from which the noise had come. Voldemort was gaining behind him, but the old man had Apparated above him. In keeping with the laws of apparition, he was still falling, but he was releasing spells at the Dark Lord so fast that his wand was a blur.

Voldemort cursed, and twisted around to take on the oncoming foe. Harry somehow managed to level the motorbike out, and hit the brake hard, trying to judge the path of the old man.

The person in question had now fallen past the Dark Lord and was now beneath Voldemort, who was turning again with a triumphant look on his face.

Harry pulled his own wand out and fired off two Blasting Curses in rapid succession, forcing the Dark Lord to block him instead of attacking. His old rescuer somehow managed to grab onto the sidecar as he fell, though the motorbike lost several feet of altitude as well. With an agility that belied his age, he clambered into it, and resumed sending a hailstorm of spells at their pursuant.

"Distract him!" came the shout, and Harry twisted around without any question and began firing whatever spells came to mind at the Dark Lord. His speed and reflexes were nowhere near how they had been under the _Magicus Extremos _boost, and Voldemort brushed him off like he was nothing more than a fly.

Harry cursed, increasing the speed and strength of his attacks. Next to him, the old man was chanting furiously in the sidecar, waving his wand in intricate patterns.

_I need more speed_, thought Harry furiously, just as a stray spell hit the motorbike. It began falling out of the air immediately, and he only just managed to right it with a hasty levitation spell before it hit the water surface. The resulting jerk was enough to throw him out of the seat, though, and he only just managed to right himself.

He landed on the water first and felt a thrill as base instinct took control again. He took off running, as his magic instinctively boosted his reflexes to twenty times the normal speed so he could run on water. Feeling the magic suffusing his limbs, he turned with a confident grin, and began firing a series of spells at Voldemort.

With a thrill of joy, he found that he was chaining spells again, and he quickly fired off a Stunner, a Bone-Breaker and conjured a fleet of arrows before sending it at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort brushed his attack off and retaliated with a chain of his own, screaming in frustration when Harry dodged past them all at inhuman speeds.

Caught up in the rush of adrenaline and his own success, Harry turned and made his biggest mistake of the night – he winked cheekily at Voldemort.

The simple action resulted in increasing the Dark Lord's anger tenfold, as well as causing Harry to lose his balance slightly for the first time since he had landed. In his overconfidence, he was unable to get up a proper shield, and Voldemort's next spell chain landed right where it had been aimed.

A Piercing Hex got him through the knee, making him stumble – he was not able to stop completely – the Bone Crusher got his right hand and a purple spell cleaved off half the meat from his shoulder. With a cry of pain, he landed in a spectacular spray of water. Vision blacking out in the pain, he was just able to sense something stir in the waters as he sank into the depths.

The water seemed to be strengthening him ever so slightly, like it was carrying a magic of its own.

A dark shape formed at the bed, taking form and growing longer and longer –

Harry's eyes widened, and bubbles shot from his mouth as he exhaled suddenly. He felt a sudden wrench behind him and he was Summoned forcefully out of the water, the shadowy serpent rising above him.

_The old man had summoned a wraith!_ He managed to think as he broke the surface of the water.

A ripple, another...and then the magnificent serpent burst out of the water, its jaw wide and aimed at Voldemort.

He could see the Dark Lord stop midway through his triumphant yell, and twist around in horror to face the creature. The last thing he saw before a hand grabbed his shoulder and took him twisting into the darkness was Voldemort's wand coming slashing down to the air.

Harry lost consciousness midway through his first Side-Along Apparation.

...o0oOo0o...

When he came to, he was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room, with the old man standing over him. The first rays of sunlight of a new day were coming in through the window.

"Why didn't you Apparate me away in the first place?" asked Harry indignantly, pain lancing through him as he shifted under the covers.

"Don't move," said the man, "you're still healing. Take this Dreamless Sleep Potion," he said, handing Harry a vial.

Harry took it, and the old man continued, "I stayed and fought because Voldemort needed to know that there was a new chess piece on the board, one on your side."

Relief and warmth shot through Harry, and he couldn't help giving a small smile as he downed the vial. As the world around him went fuzzier, and his head began to feel heavy, he asked the question he should have asked the very moment they'd met.

"Who are you?"

"Blade Durums," said the man with a smile, "Blade Bole Durums. I hear you're in the market for a teacher?"

...o0oOo0o...

**Author's Note: And that's that. I'm too tired to talk, so just go through the read and review routine. Updates will be sporadic now, so you'll have to deal with that.**

**Oh, and in case anybody manages to figure out the HUGE plot point in this story, you can PM me, but don't spoil it for others. Planning this took half the wait for the chapter, and it should blow your minds when you work it out.**

**Till next time,**

**Warlord1096**

**Previously IamtheMasterofDeath.**


	5. The Legend's Succubus

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter, despite my best efforts. My OCs are my intellectual property, though.**

**Warning: Name changed from IamtheMasterofDeath to Warlord1096.**

**Chapter 5: The Legend's Succubus**

"Up, up!" Harry groaned as he came back to the world of consciousness. "I haven't got all day, kid! You're perfectly fine now, so there's no need to lounge about in bed!"

He opened his eyes to find Blade looking down at him with narrowed eyes. "I hope you've learned your lesson, then?"

Harry only managed a questioning grunt as he fumbled around for his glasses and put them on.

"Don't _ever_ become overly confident when you're fighting, Potter! You almost lost your life this time, and you will lose it soon enough if you continue in that direction!"

Harry sat up now, wide awake, as everything from the fight came back to him. Phantom pains tingled over his body, but he disregarded them as he asked, "You! You made that huge serpent attack Voldemort! How?"

"Well, aren't you a curious one?" asked the old man, his lips twisting into a smirk. "How do you think I did it?"

Harry paused for a moment, still feeling a bit lightheaded. He definitely hadn't expected such heavy conversation immediately after waking up. "Er...an old spell, maybe? Some sort of extreme conjuration...or raising some sort of spirit?"

Blade looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes like unfathomable wells. Then he threw back his head and laughed; a deep, rumbling laugh. Harry only watched with growing confusion and a hint of indignation until the old man calmed down.

"What?" he asked a bit defensively.

"Nothing, nothing," said Blade, still chuckling. "Old spells and raising spirits, indeed. I wouldn't be moving for days if I could even perform such a feat of magic – nobody could. All I did, Potter," he paused for dramatic effect, "was to summon all the trash and garbage at the bottom of the river, and then transfigure it into a giant serpent. Elementary yet effective."

Harry gaped – for the solution to be something so _simple..._

"Yes, you're getting it now, aren't you?" asked Blade. "Duelling isn't about knowing powerful spells or performing forgotten magic, it's about how you _use_ what you know. That's you second lesson right there – nearly every spell can harm, if you use it cleverly."

Harry nodded, immersed in though, even as he chided himself slightly. Hadn't he experienced this first hand himself, when Ron had taken down a mountain troll with a _Wingardium Leviosa_ when he was just eleven?

"Now, get out of bed, and get ready. Your trunk and broomstick are in one corner of the room, and the bathroom is through that door. I'll be beginning our lessons today and then leaving in the evening."

"Leaving?" asked Harry, surprised.

"It might come as a surprise to you, boy, but I do have a life outside of teaching a wet-behind-the-ears teenager," replied the old man without missing a beat, "I will set you a task, and you will have accomplished it when I will return to assess you next. What you do in between is none of my concern, but you will complete what I have asked, by hook or by crook. Is that understood?"

"Yes," replied Harry with a nod of his head, "but why are you doing this? Why are you helping me, teaching me?"

Blade looked at him for a long moment, an inscrutable expression on his face. Then he answered.  
"I figured it was time someone did. Be downstairs in twenty minutes."

And true to his word, he was waiting when Harry made his way down the stairs, ahead of the given limit of time. He'd even found a bit of time to explore –

It was a simple two-storey house, with Spartan furnishing, though there was a rather ornate library that had a different air about it from the rest of the house. His eyes roamed over the titles, widening in amazement, and he swore to read as many of them as he could in the time he spent here. He had to wrench his eyes away from the shelves and remind himself that he had to meet Blade.

He found some toast and a glass of milk on the table – it seemed the food supply was as simple as the house itself – and a not next to him, telling him to eat up and meet his new instructor outside. He did so promptly, and grabbed his wand, eager to go outside.

But as he felt the familiar warmth shoot up his hand from the eleven inches of Holly, a sinking feeling appeared in his stomach as a sudden thought struck him.

He rushed outside, panic rising within him, quickly locating Blade standing next to a tree stump, gazing out over the horizon.

"Blade!" he called, and the old man in question turned around and promptly raised his eyebrow to take in his state.

"What is it?" asked the man, and Harry swore he heard an undercurrent of concern under the man's voice.

"My wand," said Harry by way of explanation, "I cast magic with it – and it's the holidays, I'm not supposed to do magic – I've already got a warning –"

"Calm down, lad, calm down!" Blade said, in obvious amusement. "Nothing's going to happen; the Ministry won't send you any letters!"

That stopped Harry short. "It won't?" he asked, perplexed. "But – what -?"

"When you run in circles such as mine, kid," said the old man gruffly, "you pick up a trick or two. I warded the hell out of the general area the moment you pulled your wand out."

"But what about your magic?" asked Harry, "if an el- somebody else performs magic next to me, I can still be blamed for it," he said.

"We were far away from your place when it happened, kid. The Ministry will only be able to pin it on you if it takes place 2 kilometres within the radius of your home – and that's only if there's no other witch or wizard living nearby.

"Ok," said Harry a bit suspiciously. Blade seemed to have all of his bases covered perfectly, which was highly convenient – a bit _too_ convenient for his tastes.

Blade noticed the look in his eyes. "Good," he said, his eyes sparkling, "good. You're not taking everything I say at face value, you even doubt who I am."

Blade pulled his wand out – Harry noticed that it was Holly like his own – and swore an oath that he was indeed Blade Bole Durums, and he meant Harry no harm.

Nothing happened for a good few seconds, so Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He relaxed, and looked around him for the first time.

He was surrounded by greenery; they were out somewhere in the open, away from civilization, if he had to take a guess. There was a river running past the house, and a small hill which led away from the house. The entire area was shielded by a belt of trees, providing them with a natural barrier of secrecy...all in all, it was an idyllic location.

"Where are we?" asked Harry, taking in the scenery around him.

"On the outskirts of Godric's Hollow," said the old man gruffly, and Harry's head shot up. "Yes, the same village you vanquished Voldemort."

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly...the old man wasn't afraid to speak the Dark Lord's name like other wizards. Harry approved.

"This is your house?" he asked, already feeling the strange desire to go take a look at where it had happened, where it had all begun.

"Yes," said the old man shortly, "but for all purposes, consider it yours. I just want it back in one shape when the summer ends, I frankly don't give a damn what you do with it in between."

"All right," said Harry a bit cautiously.

"Good," said Blade, drawing him up to full height. "Now that all of that's out of the way, let us get down to your first lesson."

"Potter!" barked the man, and Harry started. "You ever felt magic?"

"Felt magic?" asked Harry, perplexed. He was rewarded with a Stinging Hex to his elbow, jarring his entire arm and making him yelp.

"Don't repeat what I said, boy, you're a human being and not a parrot!" roared Blade, and for the first time – and it wouldn't be the last – Harry wondered about the sanity of the man. "You will behave intelligently when I teach you Potter, or you will at least make an effort to be competent around me. I won't be mollycoddling you when I'm teaching!"

"Yes sir," replied Harry a bit stiffly with a nod of his head. However infuriating this man was, Harry wouldn't let him get under his skin – he'd seen Blade's power first hand, and he was determined to learn from him. "Could you please explain what you mean by sensing magic?"

"I mean you feel magic when it's being cast, Potter," said the man, his blue eyes boring into Harry's green. "Feel Dark Magic, feel spells coming at you, feel them building in your wand?"

He thought back to his battle in the graveyard, when he'd been able to dodge and shield away from spells as if guided by a secret instinct –

"Yes," he replied in the affirmative, "yes, I have."

"Good," said Blade a bit savagely, "that'll make this easier. Once you've sensed the magic, been touched by it, it's easier to do so again. Especially since you underwent the _Magical Extremos_ ritual."

Harry stiffened. "How did you know?" he asked, clutching his wand tightly.

Blade smirked. "Magic leaves traces, kid. You may think the boost afforded by the ritual was temporary, but you're wrong. You've been touched by deep magic, the Old Magicke itself...you don't come out of something like that without something to show for it. Why don't you think wizards use the ritual more often?"

When Harry remained silent, Blade answered for him. "The ritual requires a base level of power to begin, Potter, that's already higher than what most wizards can offer. And moreover, it requires a real enemy – not your everyday school rival – but a mortal nemesis. You have both, Potter – the power and the enemy. The question is, how will your story end?"

Harry remained silent, having no answer to that.

"Enough thinking," said Blade finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "sit here on the stump, Potter."

He complied, and then swore as the ground around it glowed a deep golden and then returned to normal.

"What did you do?" he spat at Blade, who was smirking in a self satisfied manner.

"Just built a barrier around you. It'll vanish in seven hours, or when you're able to sense magic enough to find the only keyhole in it. You can then hit it with any spell you want – don't worry about the Decree, it doesn't matter so near the Hollow – and it'll fall."

"You bastard," spat Harry, and Blade's eyes flashed.

"Careful what you call me, Potter," said the old man, "or that barrier might just turn permanent."

He let that threat hang in the air for a moment, before continuing, "Every day, the barrier will set itself up at ten-thirty, and drop at five-thirty. I expect you to be inside the ward and practising everyday, and you will show some measure of progress when I return twenty days later. I will find out if you don't work at it regularly, because this is not an easy art. Is that _clear_?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry through gritted teeth. "Crystal." He was beginning to hate this man already, power be damned.

"Brilliant!" said Blade, suddenly cheerful. "Well, I just received urgent summons which I must attend to, but don't let that deter you. And oh, should you manage to drop the wards before time, press your wand to the hole in the stump to raise them again so you might continue practising. Ta-ta!"

And just like that, he was gone, Disapparating with a crack.

Harry flopped heavily onto the stump, winded by this turn of events. His new teacher hadn't even hung around long enough to see his first lesson, he wouldn't be around to teach Harry continuously, and he was probably batshit crazy, judging from his mood swings.

_Brilliant,_ thought Harry sarcastically, arranging himself cross-legged on the stump. _Absolutely brilliant._

...o0oOo0o...

Six hours and fifty-nine minutes later, he was waiting, tired and hungry, for the bleeding wards to drop. His attempts at meditation had proven fruitless with him getting distracted at the drop of a hat, and he was as close to sensing his magic as Snape was to becoming a ballerina.

He shivered at the mental images flooding his brain, and then sighed in relief as the ground glowed golden again, signalling the end of seven hours.

He got off the stump and stumbled towards the house, intent on finding some food and getting it into some system. He raided the kitchen and found it completely empty, and swore colourfully at Blade before collapsing on the couch, defeated.

An idea struck him, and he called out, "Dobby!"

_Crack!_ "Harry Potter called?" asked the excitable elf as he Apparated into the house, "How can Dobby be helping Harry Potter?"

"Dobby, how would you like to spend the summer working for me?" He had only just managed to finish his sentence before Dobby barrelled into his leg, and hugged it with his frail arms.

Dobby, it seemed, was perfectly willing to work for the 'Great Wizard Harry Potter'. He was also a perfectly brilliant cook, as attested to by the meal he prepared which Harry devoured within minutes of Dobby placing it on the table.

Utterly satisfied, he sat back down on the sofa, rubbing his stomach while Dobby puttered about the house, cleaning the shelves and muttering about shopping. He never even noticed when he fell asleep, his head resting against a cushion, or when Dobby gently placed a blanket around him.

_"Master," said Rookwood, bowing before him. "The ritual is ready, I will take her tonight. The Department of Mysteries will be empty, and the Table room as well."_

_"Excellent," his voice was high and cold, but filled with power. "Take six men with you, and ensure that you are successful."_

_"I will not fail you, My Lord," said Rookwood, his voice firm with conviction. "You have my word."_

_"Very well," replied Voldemort, "The Dark Lord rewards all those who serve him properly. May her death bring you glory, Rookwood."_

_Rookwood rose and turned away. He flicked his wand, and out of the shadows rose a body, covered in a dark shroud. With another flick of his wand, it followed him out of the room, floating ominously through midair._

_Anticipation rose like a tidal wave within Voldemort as he took his seat once more, pondering on the Ritual..._

Harry awoke with a gasp, his eyes shooting open. "Dobby!" he called, and the elf appeared before him, ready to serve.

"Harry Potter Sir called Dobby?" he asked, his bulbous green eyes staring up into Harry's one.

"Yes, Dobby," said Harry, "I need to get to the Ministry of Magic – lives are at stake –"

"The Ministry?" asked Dobby, his eyes wide. "Dobby can take yous, sir!" he said, biting his lip.

"Excellent!" said Harry. "Wait a moment here, I'll be right back!" He raced up the stairs, his heart pounding. Rookwood would perform some weird Dark Ritual tonight, something which involved a person's death, and a rise in Voldemort's power.

_Why hadn't Blade left any method to contact him?!_ Thought Harry mentally, thinking that he could do with the old wizard's expertise right then.

He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and raced back down the stairs, where Dobby was ready and waiting. He took the elf's hand, and the two of them twisted into nothingness immediately.

They arrived outside a run-down public restroom, the stench of urine assaulting Harry's nose at once. Combined with the unpleasant sensation of a successful Apparation, he retched, before stumbling away from the urinal and vomiting all over the pavement.

"Is Harry Potter sir alright?" asked Dobby as Harry straightened weakly, thinking about how he detested Wizarding Transportation.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," rasped Harry, wiping his mouth and wincing at the sour taste. Thankfully, Dobby snapped his fingers and a minty taste overtook his mouth.

"Thanks Dobby," he said gratefully, and the elf perked up visibly, making him resist the urge to roll his eyes. "How do I get into the Ministry?"

"You need to flush yourselves down the toilets, Sir," said Dobby, suddenly wringing his hands nervously.

"You – _what –_?!" Harry looked at Dobby incredulously, but it looked like the elf was dead serious.

So three long minutes of self-motivation later, Harry found himself standing inside a toilet; his feet miraculously dry. Closing his eyes and swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he grabbed the chain and pulled.

His first instinct when he arrived at the Employee's Bay was to check himself over, but thankfully he was perfectly clean. Sniffing the air around him and finding it clean, he waited for a second before Dobby appeared next to him with a _'Crack!'_.

He started, then glared at the elf. "Why didn't you just take me in here directly if you could Apparate in?" he asked indignantly.

"Dobby is sorry, Sir," said the elf miserably, "only elvses can Apparate in the Ministry sir, they can't be taking other wizardses with them!"

"All right then," huffed Harry, before walking out of the lobby and into the Atrium. He barely had time to react before he heard footsteps behind him. Dobby snapped his finger and vanished, and he through his Cloak over him and pressed himself against the wall.

"Who's there?" asked Rookwood, his eyes narrowing. When he received no answer, he raised his wand and incanted, _'Homenum Revelio!'_

Nothing happened for quite a few moments, and Harry wondered if he'd performed the spell correctly at all. Even so, he didn't move a muscle, only just beginning to realize how foolhardy he'd been to rush into the Ministry without any backup

"That's enough, Augustus," said a smooth voice, and Harry gritted his teeth.

_Lucius Malfoy._ The blonde wizard came into view, levitating the shrouded figure before him. "The Human Revealing Presence spell is infallible, you know that. The Dark Lord developed it himself during the First Wizarding War!"

Despite himself, Harry's interest rose. Voldemort had developed his own spells?

_In hindsight, it's not so surprising_, thought Harry. Tom Riddle was, after all, the greatest mind of his generation, and the Darkest Wizard in several millennia.

Rookwood nodded, hestitating slightly. Nevertheless, he set off walking, using his wand to charm his silver mask into place. Six other Death Eaters followed...together, they were seven.

_The most powerfully magical of all numbers_, thought Harry randomly, before chastising himself and focussing on the task at hand.

_The Ministry is obviously Unplottable,_ Harry reasoned, _any magic I do won't be picked up here._ Feeling slightly more courageous, he pulled out his wand and followed at a respectable distance. He could only hope Dobby was somewhere around, because he had no way of seeing the Invisible elf.

The wizard at the desk before him was unconscious, so Harry crept past him, wand out and at the ready.

_'Level Nine, the Department of Mysteries,'_ the cool voice of the female announcer washed over the cavernous Atrium, echoing off the walls. Harry sped up and found that Death Eaters had entered the lifts.

Harry hurried into the next lift, wincing when the grilles slammed shut with a resounding crash. He waited for some time before pressing the 9 button...

He was immediately thrown back against the wall as the elevator first zoomed backwards, and then dropped down without any warning. Panting and swearing, he almost had a further aneurism when he heard Dobby cheer slightly next to him.

"Dobby, keep quiet!" he chastised, and he could almost imagine the heartbroken look on the elf's face as he complied.

They had reached the Ninth Level, and the Grilles promptly opened. Before they could open all the way noisily and give away their position, though, Harry rapidly shot off some Silencing Charms and crossed his fingers.

It worked. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry got off the lift; just in time to see the door at the very end of the corridor slam shut.

Giving them another five minutes of a head start, he ran softly down the corridor, Dobby pattering along at his heels.

He opened the door slightly, and finding it mercifully empty, slipped in.

He cursed himself as soon as he'd shut the door, because the walls of the room began spinning. The torches set in the brackets burned neon blue streaks into his eyes, before the walls came to a halt.

He gulped, his stomach bubbling in apprehension. He now had no way of knowing the exit –

He almost jumped out of his skin as the cool female voice spoke up again. '_Agent Lily Potter, awaiting confirmation.'_

A panel appeared on the middle of the floor, sliding aside as a platform rose out of the obsidian marble. Like everything else in the room, it was a deep black, except for a gold glow on the top. Almost entranced by the sight, Harry strode forward.

The top of the panel read '_Lily Potter, Unspeakable, Class 3'_

Beneath it was another sentence. _'Place hand here'_

He paused for a second, feeling nervous. Why had the room recognized him as Lily Potter when she had been dead for the past fourteen years?

Feeling extremely Gryffindorish and reckless, Harry reached out anyway and placed his hand on the pedestal. His stomach dropped out for a long second as nothing happened, before a word floated up on the screen-thing on top.

_MATCH._

He found that he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled loudly. The writing faded away, before more words appeared.

_Research_

_Missions_

_Assignment_

_Archives_

_Exit_

Harry's eyes lit up at the prospect of seeing his mother's work, before his heart fell – he had no time, he was on a mission.

Almost in tandem, he heard a muffled scream from the left, and his head snapped in that direction. Regretfully, he palmed the _Exit_ option and hurried in that direction as the pedestal once more made its way underground; he promised himself that he would return here one day.

He infinitesimally opened the first door he thought the sound had come from, and realized that he'd struck gold. Slipping into the room and quietly shutting the door behind him. He was inside a long, narrow tunnel, the ceiling of was enshrouded in darkness. The tunnel opened into a huge room with a single stone table in the middle, from what he could see.

A solitary figure rested on it as two Death Eaters worked tirelessly on her with their wand, murmuring long spells and twirling their wands in complex patterns. The other four stood guard, facing outwards, wand at the ready.

Another scream rang through the air, and Harry grew desperate as he saw the woman's arm getting sliced open. He cast his mind around helplessly, hoping to come up with something, and his gaze fell on Malfoy –

The man was arrogant enough not to wear his mask even while he was infiltrating the Ministry of Magic, thought Harry savagely, and then it struck him.

_Malfoy. The Duelling Club. Second Year._

_'Serpensortia,'_ he whispered, concentrating on the specific serpent he wanted. He watched as six of them slid out of his wand, facing him for orders. Dobby shivered next to him, but he had no time for the elf –

_'Spread out,'_ he ordered them in Parseltongue, keeping his voice low. _'Keep to the shadows and attack all of them at once._'

He watched as the snakes slithered off, and then raised his own wand. Taking careful aim at the man performing the ritual whose back was to him, he muttered, _'Everte –_

He paused, not saying the next word of the spell immediately. What he was doing was called the Two-Second Pause, otherwise known as the Theatre Pause. In theory, it let the spell built on his wand built on intent alone, and it also had the added bonus of making the wizard look extremely cool when he said it in a deep voice.

As one, the Spitting Cobras struck, and Harry marvelled at their accuracy – they'd managed to get two of the Death Eaters even through the slits of their mask. Malfoy had fallen as well, clutching his eye.

Chaos broke out in the room, but Harry had already sprung into action. _ " – STATUM!" _he roared, completing the spell. The Invisibility Cloak slipped off him, he was in full view now.

The pink jet of light shot out of his wand – much faster and larger than normal – and barrelled into the back of the man he'd been aiming it. The spell was so powerful that it took him flying over the Ritual Table and into his partner, sending them to the ground unceremoniously. Wasting no time, Harry charged forward.

He'd been reading up on spell chains over the Summer, and though he was nowhere near as fast as in the graveyard, he snapped off a Stunner, a Bone-Breaker and another Stunner in quick succession.

But the Death Eaters were already regrouping – even while three of them remained on the floor, the other three banded together and raised a shield, nullifying all of his attacks.

But Dobby had a few surprises as well – before any of them could retaliate, the elf had appeared into the field of vision and snapped his fingers. One of the Death Eaters was blasted away; shield or no shield, and he hit the wall with a sickening crack and passed out, his head lolling.

Harry used the moment of confusion to send two _Relashios _the way of the prisoner, seeing that she was tied down by chains.

The metal bindings fell apart, and she burst into action as well. Harry's mouth fell open as wings – huge, leathery wings – snapped out of her back. She shot into the air, and Harry swore he saw a pointed tail waving in the air.

She was still carrying the chains, he noticed, and before he could even do anything, she had lashed out with them.

At that moment, Harry was sure that she was no Transfigured human, because her speed and reflexes were inhuman. The shield the Death Eaters had put up were only effective against magical attacks – the chains cut through them like butter.

One of them hit a Death Eater in the eye, while the other wrapped around his partner's neck. With an animalistic snarl, she _pulled._

A sickening crack echoed around the room, and the Death Eater sank to his knees. He was dead.

Bile rose up in Harry's throat again, but he raised his wand anyway. With a wave, ropes bound all of the fallen Death Eaters. Stunners promptly put them out of the action altogether. With another flick, he summoned their wands.

A quick _'Reducto'_ and the wands were history.

Harry strode forward, hardly believing how lucky he had been in the entire event. The sole remaining Death Eater was cowering against the wall, and the mysterious woman was raising her arms again to go in for the kill.

"STOP!" shouted Harry, and she paused for a second. She turned her head, but Harry paid her no heed, stunning the last Death Eater and binding him. He destroyed his wand and turned around to face the dead Death Eater.

Harry charmed the Mask off with a spell. Blank eyes stared up at him.

Rookwood. _It was just as well,_ thought Harry bitterly, _the Dark Lord would have made him suffer terribly. _Bending down, Harry closed his eyes, a last act of compassion for the man who never deserved it in the first place.

His neck snapped back and forced him into a standing position as he felt cold chains wrap around him. He felt the woman alight before him, before she walked to him, winding the chain as she went.

Finally, he was pressed up against her, feeling her warm breath on his ear.

Harry suddenly went completely still as he recognized a crucial fact – the woman had been naked during the ritual. And she was – and she was _still _–

He gulped, even as she spoke in his ears. "Move a muscle, and I'll kill you," her voice was melodious, but surprisingly youthful.

"All right," he said, completely still.

"Your elf is unconscious," she breathed in his ear, and he shivered involuntarily. "So don't try anything funny..."

Harry Potter may have been a boy hero, he may have been Triwizard Champion, he may have been a Basilisk Conquerer, but he was above all a teenage boy, and at that moment, he was finding himself incapable of speech or thought right then. There was something about the woman, that was driving all rationality out of him, and making a hazy fog descend on his mind.

"Could you stop that, p - please?"

She went completely still as well, before she asked warily.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Whatever you're doing," said Harry, his voice picking up some conviction. "You're casting some sort of spell on me."

"Why?" she asked, her tone now coloured with amusement. "Does it bother you?"

His skin was feeling hot and cold at the same time, and he barely managed to give a jerky nod – the chains against his neck restricting him. He tried desperately to quell the images running through his mind, sorely wishing he'd never found Dudley's hidden stash of dirty magazines.

"But what if _I_ like it?" she continued huskily, and his knees suddenly began to feel like jelly. He would gladly take the torture of Voldemort's Cruciatus over this – over whatever this woman was doing. "You're an extremely powerful wizard, young man...who are you?"

"H- Harry Potter," he managed to cought out.

She made a small noise of surprise, before the chains slackened. "Harry Potter?" she asked, her voice surprised. "The Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Yes," he said, taking in lungfuls of air all at once. "And I'd appreciate it if you would remove the chains around my neck."

She complied, before he was turned around forcefully, pulled into a tight hug. The magic around him lessened, though he was still conscious of her body against his.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed, "you came to save me! Why didn't you tell me before?!"

_Maybe because you were choking me,_ thought Harry viciously. _Maybe because you still are?_

"Were you scared?" she asked in concern, "I _can_ behave rather scarily when I'm angry," she said conversationally, like she hadn't been trying to kill him seconds ago. "I'm Callida, by the way, but you can call me Calli!"

"Great," puffed out Harry, "would you kindly let go of me now?" As pleasant as the situation was, he could not help but feel that there was something going on. The girl was almost bipolar in the fashion she'd changed her moods, going from threatening to positively ditzy in a matter of seconds.

Mercifully, she did so, and he collapsed on the floor, breathing deeply. His face a bright red, he opened his mouth to question her, but then he stopped short -

Two long legs were planted in front of him, completely smooth and without any blemishes. Almost entranced by them, his eyes journeyed upwards, past her knees, her thighs, and then –

Harry tore his face away sharply, getting to his feet and stumbling away as fast as he could. Shaking his head to get the image out of his head, he looked up sharply to meet her eyes, not daring to look anywhere but her face.

She was _gorgeous –_ she had a heart-shaped face with slightly slanted violet eyes, plump lips pulled into a mischievous grin, and a waterfall of lustrous black hair. She looked like she was in her late teens, though her eyes told a different story. He'd never seen anybody so beautiful.

His eyes went south almost as if drawn by some unknown magic, and suddenly, he realized that she was grievously wounded.

She seemed to have come to the same realization as him – he could almost see the last of the adrenaline bleeding out of her frame – before she teetered suddenly. She stumbled to the table, before collapsing heavily on it.

"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, "can you make it out?"

"You can use Portkey, Harry Potter sir," said a groggy voice, and he looked around to see Dobby coming round. His eyes were watery. "Dobby is failing Harry Potter sir," said the elf, his lips trembling.

"No you didn't, Dobby!" said Harry quickly, "you were brilliant! Now, are you sure?"

"Yes," said Dobby, "old Masters is doing it all the time. You can Portkey out, but not in."

"Right," said Harry. "Right," he repeated, "a Portkey. I read up on it after the Third Task. I can do it. I think," he told himself.

Taking off his shoe, he pointed his wand at it. Concentrating hard on his current house, he muttered, _'Portus.'_

As expected, nothing happened. "Don't worry," said Harry, biting his lip and looking down at the shoe, "I can do it."

It took six dedicated tries, but finally, he crowed in success as the shoe glowed blue.

"Get my cloak, Dobby," he said, turning to Callida. "Er –"

She was unconscious on the Table.

Dobby seized his Cloak and vanished with a crack. With a sigh, Harry grabbed his new acquaintance, and concentrated on the Portkey which would take them out of here.

_'Activate._'

**Author's Note: And yep, there's your favourite Succubus! Short Author's Note because I'm low on time, and I don't think I'll have time to reply to your reviews soon.**

**That doesn't mean you should drop a word for me, though. I'll be waiting to see what you think of the chapter! The more the merrier, but hey, no pressure. They won't make me update faster because I have exams coming up, so no updates before the 22nd.**


	6. The Legend and the Offer

**Disclaimer: It all belongs to JKR, despite the best efforts of my lawyers. Oh wait, I don't have any. Curses!**

**Chapter 6: The Legend and the Offer**

Harry tried to keep his eyes off the snoring Succubus on his bed as he helped Dobby tend to her. He mentally listed the ingredients for a Deflating Draught, before moving on to the Scintillation Solution as he bathed her wounds with warm water and a rag.

Even so, he was finding it extremely hard to keep his mind off the beautiful woman underneath him, especially after their interaction the night before.

He frowned. Looking back now, something seemed rather off about the entire thing. She was too closed off one second, and too open the next – there was something entirely _off_ about her entire behaviour.

He winced, as a stray thought passed through his head.

_Her behaviour reminds me of Rita Skeeter._

He grimaced, but yawned as he felt tiredness overtake him. He looked at his watch and discovered that it was 3 in the morning.

"Dobby," he ordered, "I'm going downstairs to sleep." He'd make use of the couch. "Wake me up at 9, will you?"

That would give him enough time to have a small conversation with his guest and then work on his lesson from Blade, he hoped.

...o0oOo0o...

He awoke to find a pair of violet eyes looking down at him.

With a yelp, he shot out of his couch and onto the floor. "You scared me, Callida!" he gasped, fumbling around for his glasses.

Putting them on, he looked up at her, and his cheeks burned instantly.

"Di – didn't you find the clothes I had Dobby put out for you next to your bed?" he asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

"I find clothes rather _restricting_," she said, her voice heavy with innuendo, and he shifted.

He was highly uncomfortable – unsurprising, considering that he'd spent the first decade of his life locked away in a coward away from any human interaction, especially with those of the opposite sex. He shook his head; narrowing his eyes and looking firmly back up at her.

"That's too bad, because you must follow basic etiquette when you're in my house, and I expect you to be dressed. Now, you can either go upstairs and change, or the door's that way," he finished, pointing.

It was only there for a second, but he caught the fleeting, inexplicable look on her face. However, it was gone within a moment, and she complied meekly, coming down fully dressed.

Harry was ready for her, though.

Calli stopped short, the tension on her face visible this time as she found Harry at the bottom of the stairs, his wand out and pointed at her.

She drew herself up to full height, and at that instant, Harry knew that there was more to this woman than she was letting on. She looked down at him haughtily.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, "is this how you treat your guests, especially those who are wounded?"

"You tell me," said Harry, "what your little game is, first."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"This," said Harry, waving his wand a little. "There's something going on with you, and you're definitely more than you let on. You could kill a man with nary a second glance, you almost strangled me without any second thoughts, and the next second you were acting all..." he paused, his cheeks pinking, "weird."

She giggled, and he scowled. "I'm not buying it, not for a second. You can let go of that facade immediately, and tell me who you really are."

She eyed him appreciatively for a second, before nodding. "You are a strange wizard, Harry Potter. Most boys your age would be drooling at my feet the moment I flashed them some skin and behaved like a naive fool –"

"I'm not most boys," growled Harry, his wand still aimed at her, "and I'm getting antsy here."

"Very well," she said. "I'm Callida, as I've already said, though I'm reconsidering my decision to allow you to call me Calli." She straightened slightly, and inclined her head. "I am the last of the Succubi, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harry Potter."

Harry faltered slightly. "Succubi?" he asked, "they died out ages ago. Tell the truth, or I start casting!"

She scowled slightly, and something came up and waved threateningly in the air next to him.

It was her tail, he realized with a jolt. There was a loud ripping sound as the back of her dress split open and huge, leathery wings opened. He could immediately feel an alien aura about her, one that was rushing with power and raw sexuality.

He found that he was breathing heavily when he said, "All right, all right, I believe you. But how is this possible?"

She smirked as she retracted her wings and her aura, like she knew exactly how she was feeling. He flicked his wand and repaired her clothes with a mild _Reparo, _motioning for her to move the discussion to the Dining Table.

"So, Harry Potter," she asked him, eyeing him up and down, "what do you know of Succubi?"

He flashed back to what he'd read about the legendary race –

_Succubi are intently sexual creatures, rumoured to be the ancestors of both Veela and Metamorphmagi. While they possess no magical powers, their strength and physical abilities far outstrip the average human. Notorious for their fey character, and their history of seducing powerful wizards through the ages for their own gain, they were wiped out in Merlin's Final War; where they sided against the forces of Morgana le Fey and fell prey to one of her worst curses._

"You were wiped out during the final Merlinian War," he said, "how did you survive?"

"We are much alike, Harry Potter," she said, "orphans of the war. However," she continued, "my family still exists, though in a form very different from what they once were, it seems."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, curious.

"Succubi are creatures of the soul, Harry Potter. We do not play with the dreams of Men, but their very essence. During the War, Morgana cast a spell – a spell so terrible, that it took this greatest power of ours, and perverted it into something so hideous that they are still feared as the darkest creatures to roam the world."

He pieced it together in seconds. "Dementors," he croaked. "Your kind now exists as the Dementors."

"From what I understand," she agreed, "yes. What can you tell me about them?"

"They're terrible beings, like you said. They suck the happiness out of a person, and their greatest power is the Dementor's Kiss – they suck out your very soul, leaving you an empty shell. You can still live, but you will be no better than a vegetable."

She made a disgusted sound, revulsion clear in her eyes. "I must find a way to reverse this curse," she said, "my race must be restored to its former glory. Long have they suffered for no fault of their own, other than fighting for the forces of the Light."

"But how did you survive?" asked Harry, still puzzled.

"My mother," she replied heavily. "Though I was but a child by our People's standards, I was one of the best warriors, and so I was on the front line. She threw herself in front of me, hoping to take the brunt of the curse. Somehow, her sacrifice managed to spare me, though I fell into a coma. Long I lay there, underneath the debris of the battle, and underneath the ground as time passed. Until..."

"Until?" Harry questioned, his breath tight in his chest. Her tale was not much different from his own; she had been saved by the love of her mother as well.

"Until a few months ago," she replied with a wan smile, "when a huge magical outburst brought me out of my sleep. I awoke to find myself in a little village of some sort, by the name of Little Hangleton. It was old Magic that woke me up, Light Magic of the oldest kind."

Harry's throat went dry. "The _Magicus Extremos_ ritual," he whispered.

"You invoked that?" she asked, her eyes widening. They almost increased to the size of galleons when he nodded, and he shifted slightly as she gave him a long searching stare.

"I was captured by the Dark Lord," she said, "weak as I was, I was no match for him and his supporters. I managed to rip the information of the modern world from the minds of one of his followers, which is why I know of you, and your story."

"That's why you can speak Modern English," said Harry, realization dawning on him. Another thought struck him, making his insides go cold. "What do you mean, ripped it from his mind?"

Her eyes flitted downwards, and her tail hovered between them on the table. The pointed end opened like a weird flower complete with four petals, and he gulped. "They're still alive," she said quietly, "but they're no better than vegetables," she finished, repeating his words.

There was a long moment of silence, as Harry tried to think of how he felt about this new piece of information.

"Please," she said, "please, you have to help me." Her plea was quiet yet impassioned. "My people are at stake."

Harry sighed, getting up from the table. He had enough to deal with, without the added pressure of another quest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply and trying to calm his emotional turmoil.

"_Please,_" she repeated, and he was horrified to hear a quaver in her voice. "I'll do anything you want."

She was trying and failing to inject huskiness into her voice, but it affected him nonetheless. "I'll teach you," she said, "in exchange for your services. You could be the greatest student of the Succubi, next to the greatest wizard of all time."

He turned, his interest piqued. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She gave the smallest of smirks. "We took the greatest of wizards under our wing, Harry Potter, and made them even greater. There was one student, though, who outshone all others and went down in history forever..."

She leaned forward almost conspiratorially. "_Merlin,_" she whispered, and the word seemed to echo around the room, its implications heavy. "Think about it, Harry Potter."

With that offer on the table, she sashayed out of the room, and Harry's eyes could not help but follow her.

And as he wandered out into the garden, he pondered the new mystery that had walked into his life.

...o0oOo0o...

"I can help you, you know," offered Callida sunnily, watching Harry grow increasingly frustrated on the wooden stump. "I can see the keyhole, it's almost glaring at me."

"Is it?" asked Harry testily, his eyes squeezed firmly shut. "Maybe you should close your eyes as well, then. And your mouth," he added shortly.

"Touchy, touchy," said Callida lazily, winking at him. Her grin suddenly turned wicked. "You know," she drawled, "I could take off my clothes, undress right here in front of you, and you'd be able to do nothing to stop it."

Her hands strayed suggestively to the hem of her dress, and Harry threw her a filthy look. "Why do you do this?" he asked, "why do you tease me?"

"Just the way I am," she mused, before pouting at him, "don't you like it?"

"No," stated Harry baldly, "it makes me uncomfortable."

"I could help with your discomfort, if you want. One wet dream and you'll be as spry as a wood nymph."

"No thanks," said Harry through gritted teeth, "and wood nymph are extinct."

Calli sighed. "That's a shame. They were apparently accomplished lovers...I would have loved to seek out their services. Nearly eight hundred years old, and still a virgin," she said regretfully. "My mother would be ashamed."

Harry spluttered, his eyes snapping open. "What do you mean?"

She giggled, but her eyes popped out disbelievingly when he asked, "You're eight hundred years old?"

"Harry," she asked quite seriously, "are you a wizard's wizard?"

"_What?!"_ asked Harry, flabbergasted. "No!"

"Then how did you bypass the fact that I'm an eight hundred year old virgin, and concentrate solely on the fact that I'm eight hundred years old?"

Harry spluttered for a few more seconds, until she took pity on him. "Yes, I'm eight hundred years old, but I spent seven hundred and seventy seven years in a coma, so I'm still twenty-three, I suppose. Still a teenager," she said wistfully.

"A teenager?" asked Harry.

"By my standards," she explained. "Though a teenager with an eight hundred year old itch," she said.

Harry was somewhat relieved – it was a lot less creepier to accept the fact that she was coming on to him indiscriminately when she confessed that she was still a child by her people's standards.

Callida stood up, brushing herself off. Walking forward, she extended her tail and tapped the wards at a point a few feet above Harry's head. She continued walking towards him, and Harry gave a grunt of indignation when he realised that she'd dropped the wards.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "you spoiled my lesson!"

She plopped down on his lap, much to his embarrassment. "The only lesson that was teaching you is failure," she said. "Your teacher set you up on purpose to fail, because humility is the greatest lesson a warrior must learn. It takes years before a wizard can sense magic, so I suggest you stop wasting your time on it and dedicate yourself to other matters."

Harry was stumped. "I don't believe in no-win situations," he said, "there's always a way out. I've sensed magic before."

"Indeed?" she asked, "do tell."

So he told her about the ritual, and how he'd felt the spells coming at him. She grinned when he was done.

"You know," she said, grinning widely, "You're correct. There is a way out."

"Really?" asked Harry, excited. "Tell me!"

"Nope," she said, her grin widening. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "It's a Succubus secret, and I can't give it out so easily. Help me, though," she offered, "and I'll think about it."

Harry sighed in frustration. "Not this again!" he protested. "Even if I tried, I couldn't help you out. I'm only fifteen, what good could I do?"

"You're an extremely powerful wizard, Harry Potter," said Callida, "your potential is enormous. I would be a fool not to make you my ally. You would benefit from it as well. I repeat, think about it."

Without warning, she bent down and kissed him. He found himself responding automatically like he was no more than a puppet, his arms travelling down her back before they came to rest at her waist.

"What was that for?" he asked, panting for breath when she broke away.

"I felt like it," she said with a wink, before walking away, her tail waving enticingly behind her.

Harry blinked, before shaking himself rudely.

_Enticing?!_

...o0oOo0o...

"All right," said Harry, standing to the doorway of Callida's new room, across his own. "I'll do it. You'll have to teach me, though."

"You have a deal," she said, smiling at him. "Let's get to it, then?"

"Now?" asked Harry, taken aback. The rays of the setting sun were coming in through the window.

"Why not?" she asked. "The first step is to find your own soul."

"Soul magic?" asked Harry, shocked. He hadn't been in the Wizarding World for very long, but even he knew about the extreme prejudice against magics of any kind involving the soul.

"Not all Soul Magic is evil, Harry, you should know," she admonished.

He gaped at her uncomprehendingly for a second before it struck him like a bolt of lightning. He'd performed soul magic in the graveyard that night, no wonder it had affected him so! The more he was learning about the true nature of the ritual, the more he was cursing himself for attempting it stupidly. It was a sheer miracle things had worked out as well as they had.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked. "I won't lie, wizards have lost themselves on the very journey you are attempting. Those who came through, though, went on to become the greatest magicians ever to exist."

"Who were they?" he asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"There was only one," she said, a bit shamefacedly.

"Merlin," he said simply. It wasn't a question.

"Merlin," she agreed. "What say you, Harry Potter, will you undertake this quest?"

_People haven't survived this quest,_ thought Harry.

_But Merlin did, and he's...well, he's Merlin._

_Exactly. And I'm Harry, just Harry._

_And I need all the power I get. Voldemort can only get stronger._

_There's always a price for power..._

"There must be a catch," said Harry. "It sounds too easy. Why didn't everybody try it if it leads to power?"

"Aren't you listening?" she asked, mildly frustrated. "People have died on this quest. Everybody but one. The catch is surviving, and besides, with great power, comes only great loneliness. Do you think you can handle that?"

Another argument raged through Harry's mind.

_What if I don't survive it?_

_I've survived worse._

_I don't even know what it'll be like._

_I have to defeat Voldemort._

_Will it be worth playing with my soul?_

_It better._

His mind was made up. "What does the quest entail?"

"I'll send you into a trance within your own soul," she explained, "and the rest...you'll have to tell me."

"Right," said Harry, "right." It wasn't fair, he thought, that he would risk his life and his soul to fight a war when he was still a child. The anger and irritation that had been sparked within him since the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament was inflamed once more, and he tamped down hard on it.

_Nobody said being a hero was easy._

_Who said I had to be a hero in the first place?_

For a crazy second, he considered giving up and joining Voldemort – life would be much easier that way. As soon as it had come, though, the dream was gone, because he knew it would never be reality.

Voldemort would never let him live in peace. He was no hero, he was just Harry, looking out for his own life.

"All right," he said, "I'm ready." Sitting cross legged on the floor, he closed his eyes. He heard the squelching sound of her tail opening, before it settled on his head.

It was a strangely pleasant feeling, which was only increased by a feather light brush of her soft lips against his.

"For luck," she whispered, and he could hear the grin in her voice. He let it slide.

_Just this once._

"Any last words?" she asked, her voice still low.

"Veni, Vidi, Vici," he whispered.

And suddenly, he was gone.

...o0oOo0o...

He awoke to the feeling of sunlight on his face and the smell of grass around him. He was in a wide open field, with nothing around for miles except for wide open grassland dotted with trees here and there.

He searched himself for his wand, but it wasn't there. Strangely, he found himself unaffected by this revelation.

Summer was all around him, and he stretched, feeling deliciously lazy. He lay back on the grass, resting his head on his arm. He could get used to this...

And he lay there, inexplicably, waiting for something to happen.

And he waited.

**Author's note: Heh he...*dodges shoes* Just a wee bit late...but end of the year exams are coming up, and I must study to ace them, true to my Asian heritage.**

**So, it'll be another long wait, I'm afraid. Wish me luck.**


	7. Interlude: Breaking Free

**Author's Note: I own nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero.**

**Interlude: Breaking Free**

Some have said that waking up from the effects of a long term spell is like fighting your way up from drowning. All you can see is a thin shaft of light above you, penetrating the crushing darkness around you.

And with what precious breaths you have left in your lungs, you fight. You expend what little energy you have left, kicking, thrashing against the overwhelming force pulling you down.

She fought madly, savagely, even, to keep from being pulled down by the effects of the spell again. Pulling every bit of her will together, she battled against the overwhelming undercurrent of magic, before she managed to break free of it and return to consciousness.

Light – there was light everywhere. It burnt her eyes immediately, so much that she had to close her eyes and take refuge in the darkness behind her eyelids. Long moments passed before she dared to open her eyes again.

She was in a completely white room, so much that its blandness was the first thing that struck her. The walls were a greying shade, the linens she was resting on were completely white, and so was the gown she was dressed in.

She was in the hospital, she realized.

She sat up, alarmed, but then swayed slightly as she was overcome by weakness. Steeling herself, she noticed for the first time the different tubes which were connected to bottles hanging from the head of her bed. She'd never liked needles ever since she'd pricked herself while learning to sew, and every single one of the tubes was connected to her body by one.

_Why am I in a hospital?_ She thought, while trying to fight down the rising panic within herself. The last thing she remembered was –

All traces of weakness seemed to vanish from her, and she sat up, completely alert. She _couldn't_ remember anything, not beyond Tom Riddle and his death...

"Mum?" she called out, but her terror rose when the word came out garbled, and not at all like she'd meant it to sound.

"Mum?!" she tried again, and the result was still not intelligible. She panicked in earnest this time, screaming the word out again and again, but in vain.

A terrible thought entered her mind, but she pushed it down. She tried again and again, refusing to believe the truth.

She tried out different words, not feeling even slightly foolish as she tried to spit out different words like 'cat' and 'rat'. In the end, she gave up, and merely screamed, trying to vent her anger, and frustration, and sheer _terror._

The noise brought people crashing into the room, to find her shaking on top of her sheets, yelling for all she worth. She found no traces of her parents amongst them, and her fear only rose.

What was going on? Where was she?

Breathing heavily, she looked around at the people in the room, trying to catch her breath. They were obviously Healers, judging from their robes, which matched the sterile white colour everywhere around her.

They were speaking all at once, amazement showing on their faces, when she realized that their voices were coming in and out of focus, like someone was playing with the volume dial on the Wireless.

She tried to make sense of what they were saying, but then, the sounds stopped altogether.

Silence. It was everywhere.

The mouths of the healers moved, they gesticulated wildly, but she couldn't hear any of it. Her eyes widened, and this time, she could almost feel a burning in her throat as the fear rose in her with the force of vomit.

She screamed, and screamed and screamed.

And then she broke down crying, because Ginny Weasley couldn't hear herself scream.

**...o0oOo0o...**

Others have compared the feeling of breaking through the effects of a curse like pulling yourself through mud, fighting against the sludge, inching your way forward until you're finally free.

He fought and thrashed, trying to clear the viscous layer from his mind. He felt fatigue set upon him despite his best efforts, but he snarled.

He was not about to give up.

Images flashed through his mind, of a compartment in a steam engine, of a giant chessboard, of an underground chamber, and a broken shack. He redoubled his efforts, reaching out to those emotions from within the walls of his consciousness.

_Friendship. Loyalty. Brotherhood._

He fought with everything he had, uncaring of the consequences. He had failed his friend once, and he was not about to do it again.

But the magic was unrelenting, bent upon pulling him back down into its dark depths. For a second, he entertained the thought of giving up, of letting go. He knew that the magic wouldn't harm him in the long run, only mould him into someone different...

_No!_

He wouldn't be controlled. He wouldn't sit back and allow this course of events to develop, he wouldn't skive off and let go when he could have done something about it.

He roared in anger, fighting off the crushing fatigue. He knew it was all in his mind, that he was only imagining it – but then again, everything feels real in a dream.

He could see it before him, only inches away; he could smell the freedom, reach out and taste it. With one last almighty roar, he pulled himself free –

And Ron Weasley awoke on his bed, gasping and drenched in sweat. Memories came rushing back to him, of the year gone by, and of events before that, and he groaned, putting his head in his hands.

_Who did this to me?_ He moaned as a wave of pain passed through his head. Someone had wanted him to stay away from Harry, to make sure that he deserted his best friend in his time of need.

_But who?_

_Lord Voldemort._

The answer came to him almost at once, and it sent a thrill of foreboding down his spine. He'd heard only hushed rumours about the Third Task, now that he was no longer Harry's best friend – he grimaced – and he'd also heard whispered conversations about the house.

His first instinct was to go down and talk to his parents, but he stopped himself short as he was putting on his slippers. Even to his own mind, the idea of Voldemort cursing him sounded weak and flimsy, like it was nothing more than an excuse for his terrible behaviour.

He grimaced once more at how he'd acted – it would be a miracle if Harry ever accepted him back as his friend.

Harry had spent the entirety of his last year alone and friendless, up against a Tournament renowned for its Death Toll more than anything else. He cursed himself – how could he have been so weak, to remain under the influence of the spell, and stand by and watch his friend face his greatest challenge alone?

But no, he told himself, he wasn't weak. He'd finally broken free of the spell, and he was going to make it up to Harry if it was the last thing he did.

And till then, he would behave no differently than he had been for the past few weeks – sullen and moody, he realized, grimacing.

And he would definitely keep his eyes open.

**...o0oOo0o...**

And finally, they say that waking up from a trance is like coming out from a dark place into the light.

He followed the gentle light leading him back to the real world, highly alert for any signs of trouble.

Two seconds later, he opened his eyes and smiled ever so lightly. The ritual had been risky, but it had been worth it.

Lord Voldemort could feel the weakness from his new body wash away, and his red eyes gleamed in the dark as everything came into perfect focus. He could see the broken edge of the table where somebody had scuffed it with a quill, he could hear the sound of the miserable waste of space that was Wormtail make his way down the stairs with crystal precision.

The ritual was a substitute for the one his followers – suitably punished for their failure, of course – had messed up, and he congratulated himself on successfully modifying it to his needs. Once more, he had proven that he was the greatest wizard alive, by taking something the so-called foolish Light Wizards had invented, and twisting it for his own purpose.

And the benefits – the side benefit was a definite added bonus. He had seen his soul, and he was not afraid of it. He had no remorse for what he had done, and he was perfectly at peace with all his acts – his acts of greatness.

His lips now curved into a lipless smile in earnest, and with no sign of any magic taking place –

Where Lord Voldemort stood there was now a huge grey wolf with blood-red eyes, grinning cruelly at the world.

**Author's note: Well, it's the gap between the practical and theory examinations, so an Interlude update for you. Review, you know you want to after all these mysteries!**

**They will be solved, of course...**

**All in good time, my readers. All in good time.**


	8. The Betrayal of the Legend

**Author's Note: Yes, I'm back. Before the tomatoes and rotten eggs are thrown my way, I confess that I lost interest in my story some time back, not least because I started getting heavy criticism and some negative reviews. But then I realized that those reviews were meant to help me, because I have not received a single flame so far, **_**only constructive criticism.**_** Everybody who left some, thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I'll be the first to admit I cringed when I reread the story and realized how shallow it had become. I've already fixed parts of it, but kept some integral to the plot – yes, that means the infamous Time Turner thing is now out, so you may want to go back and read that again. **** I haven't tweaked everything yet, but it's a start. **Also, my characters are – hopefully – more complex, with several – again hopefully – sides to them. I can only hope this goes over well with you...if not, bring on more criticism. I can only get better with time and help, I guess. Sorry for holding out on you guys for so long. Since it's my final year at school, I can't promise a regular schedule, but I'm not abandoning this. No way, not my very first fanfic idea ever.

**Chapter 7: Betrayal**

Harry awoke with the feeling that there was something very, very wrong with the world. He didn't knew how long it had been since he had fallen asleep, time seemed to have no meaning in this place.

He sat up and stretched, letting out a relieved groan as he felt the kinks in his neck and shoulders release with a series of pops. Grimacing, he reached back and felt the back of his neck. He was sweating profusely.

For the first time, he wished he had his wand with him.

No sooner had he wished this, did he feel a sudden weight in his pocket. Reaching into it, a small smile spread over his face as he felt warmth shoot up his limb as soon as his fingers came in contact with eleven inches of holly.

He got to his feet, stretching his legs for a bit. Night had fallen, and there was only the faintest of lights coming from far, far away.

The rest of the world around him was darkness, he couldn't see _anything_ else for miles around. Sighing, and seeing no other option, he began to walk towards the light.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he ventured closer and closer to it until he finally realized that he was standing in an empty field. Hovering above the grass were millions of shining little crystals, each of them burning with the brilliance of his stars.

Beautiful they may have been, but at the same time, there was something..._off_ about them, for lack of a better word. It felt like they didn't fit into his essence, like they were a contradiction of his very being.

He raised his wand, levelling it at the sea of crystals. They hummed and glowed a little more brightly, unless he was mistaken.

Deciding to go with a bit of magic – he really had no other option – he aimed it at a cluster of crystals and muttered, _'Wingardium Leviosa.'_

He was unprepared for what happened next; not only did his spell completely fail to work, but at the same time, he was almost driven to his knees by the alien, unnatural aura that drove him to his knees. He was overwhelmed by the sensations, trying to drown out the inherent feeling of _wrongness_ he got from these bright lights.

_Inhuman,_ he realized, _that's the word for it. Whatever this is, this isn't human._

He stood up again, wand still at the ready. He had an inkling of an idea as he realized where he had come in contact with this sort of magic before...

_Callida,_ he realized, a sinking feeling in his stomach. _But is this part of the training, or is there something else going on?_

Growing up alone at the Dursleys and surviving his school years with a madman after him, Harry had learnt over the years to trust his instincts. At the moment, though, his instincts were screaming _wrong!_

It was almost like the tiny lights could feel his emotions – as soon as they felt his suspicions, they began humming a little louder and burning more brightly, but this time, they seemed to give off a welcoming, reassuring aura.

_Curious,_ he thought, reiterating the words of a certain wandmaker, _very curious._

The lights, he suddenly realized, were slowly stretching forward and extending into his...insides? Soul?

Deciding to investigate, he readied his wand and started moving forward, ready and at the alert, while a part of him couldn't help but wonder –

_Why is it always me who ends up in situations like this? Fifteen years old and on the cusp of a War if Dumbledore's behaviour is anything to go by, and completely out of my depth._

At least he had an ancient Succubus on his side, he reasoned mildly.

_Who may or may not be deceiving me at this very moment,_ another side of him countered.

He stopped short as an icy chill suddenly went down his spine. Looking down at his feet, he realized that he had just run out of land. The stretch of grass beneath his feet, illuminated by the sea – no, a bridge of crystals – he realized, had fallen off into a chilling darkness beyond.

He raised his foot, as if testing the shadows before him, but then brought it down hesitantly. He knew better than most what charging forward half-cocked would do, and he wasn't about to make a mistake again.

'_Lumos Solem'_ he whispered instead, waving his wand at the great void beyond him.

A small ball of light formed at the tip of his wand before it flew into the milling darkness beyond him. It illuminated nothing but endless looming shadow as it vanished into the horizon; it was almost like he was standing at the edge of the world and looking at the void beyond.

And then he suddenly backpedalled, his heart pumping in his chest; beating so loudly that he thought that it would break out of his ribs.

Right before his light had disappeared, he had sworn that he had seen one of the shadows take the form of a narrow mask, its maw wide open...

Without a doubt, he now knew that he was looking at the shade of Voldemort within him.

Harry sat down on the grass heavily, making sure that there was a safe distance between him and the edge. He was having a hard time computing what was going on, and with no other option available that he could see, he settled down to wait again.

No sleep overtook him this time; he was too antsy to get a sliver of rest. He hated this feeling of waiting, of feeling helpless, but there was nothing else that he could do.

Unless...quelling the trepidation that rose within him like a tidal wave, Harry reached out and touched one of the tiny crystals hovering above the grass with the tip of his finger.

_A battlefield. Charred corpses around her – him? – reminding him of the carnage that their enemy had wrought._

_Blood on steel. His blood, the blood of the soldiers of the attacking army._

_A final, desperate thrust forward. And when victory seemed in hand – a blaze of light, and then...Darkness._

Harry recoiled with a gasp, his chest heaving as he took long, harsh gulps of air. There was no mistaking it; he had just experienced some of Calli's own memories.

_What is going on here?_

Hopefully, the day would bring answers with it, but it was a long, long time before he saw the first rays of light appear on the horizon. Even then, it was in the direction from which he had come – he sighed, anticipating another long walk.

He watched as the pinkish rays of dawn painted the landscape around him, the brilliance of the crystals next to him dimming in the sunlight. However, as the sun rose further and the day started in earnest, he realized something strange was going on.

Turning around to look at the milling shadow that was the bit of Voldemort within him, Harry saw that it seemed to be _sucking_ _in_ any light that neared it like some gigantic black hole – the entire area surrounding the darkness seemed to be stuck in a battle of light and dark. With a gulp, he realized that the darkness seemed to be winning that particular battle.

Even more curious was the fact that the shadows looked like it was contained inside a huge glass ball – they milled and shifted about, but as far as he could see, it was completely stationary in one place as a whole.

_The Basilisk,_ he deduced,_ the Basilisk _did_ petrify the piece of Voldemort inside me._

This was a comforting realization to say the least. Harry was absolutely sure that he did not want any of that black..._thing_ tainting his essence any more than it already had.

Turning his attention to the other matter at hand, he turned to look at the crystals next to him. They looked like ordinary diamonds in the light – well, as ordinary as a thick belt of diamonds hovering in midair could look, anyway.

He cocked his head sideways as a niggling fact eluded him; whatever it was, he was sure that it was the key to this entire business.

His eyes narrowed as they looked at the bridge before him, and then turned to the shadows next to him. The very next second, they had widened to the size of Galleons as he realized the truth –

Betrayal and fury rose within him like a tidal wave, but even greater was the feeling of self-disgust that rose within him. He had been so confident and narrow-minded in his thinking, so drunk in the promise of power that he had been played for a fool. And played well, he realized as a kind of numbing shock that overtook him, as he realized that Calli had been lying all along.

He had been tricked badly he realized, his anger directed more at himself than anything else. All it had taken was for a half-naked, conniving woman to flash him a bit of skin, and he had played along like every typical teenager, even while he had thought that he was being so high and mighty by trying to push her away.

Harry sank to his knees, realizing just how out of his depths he truly was for the first time. Callida had managed to get her claws into him and he hadn't even realized it, hell, she had claimed a part of his soul without him even protesting it! He had gone along with it like a lovesick puppy!

Anger overtook him as he punched the grass in anger, ignoring the reverberating pain that shot up his hand.

_I'm a blasted fool!_ He cursed. He was nothing more than a fifteen year old swimming in an ocean of old, experienced sharks.

He pulled out his wand. _But this fifteen year old will have his say even if everything's looking down,_ he thought. If he was going down this way, he wouldn't fall without putting out a fight.

He brought his wand down in an arc, releasing three Exploding Curses in one fluid movement. They passed through the crystals like they didn't even exist, instead colliding with the soil underneath.

Harry doubled over, clutching his chest as he suddenly felt an inexplicable, unnatural feeling within him. It was like somebody was tearing his soul apart –

He stiffened in shock, realizing that that was _exactly_ what he had just done. Blackness started to close in on his vision, much to his horror, eating away at the corners of his world before it overwhelmed him completely.

The next thing that he knew, he was awake on his sofa in the house at Godric's Hollow. Green eyes took a moment to focus before the situation hit him, and he leapt forward with a snarl, intent on finding Callida and punishing her for what she had done.

It was then that he realized that his hands and leg were tightly bound, and all he managed to do was fall over in his haste to get to the Succubus.

_Never mind, _he thought, his temper rising, _I have more tricks up my sleeve._

"Dobby!" he roared, intent on calling the house-elf to help him out. "Dobby!" he roared again, when there was no reply.

"It's no use, Harry," her voice was like honey, she sounded amused more than anything else. "It was ridiculously easy to overcome your pathetic elf."

"You bitch," Harry growled, wishing he could find his wand and blast the smug smile off her face as she came into view.

"Now now, Harry," she said, the smile never leaving her face, "that's not very nice, is it?"

She tapped the edge of his chin with one long, manicured nail, looking infinitely pleased with herself. Harry bit out sharply with his mouth, but she was too quick for him.

"Oh, the little Potter has some fight left in him, does he?" she crooned, her eyes crinkling up as she laughed. Harry couldn't help and think how glorious and terrible she looked at the same time, the woman – _creature_, he corrected – who now held another stake in his life.

Would he never be free from the manipulations of people?

"You promised you would help me out," he spat, "not _this!_"

"Oh, is Harry angry?" she asked in a mock-baby voice. "Are you really so naive to believe that the world is so simple, that it is Light versus Dark, just Voldemort and his Death Eaters and you and the rest of the Wizarding World? The world is filled with shades of grey, Harry, and it is better that you learnt this lesson now, and not later in the battlefield."

"Screw you!" he yelled, thrashing against the ropes that bound him.

"Is that an offer?" she asked salaciously, before her eyes became cold. "I was taught the art of manipulation long before you were even born, Harry. Theatricality and Deception are two of the greatest tenets of our race, and I was well versed in them even in my youth."

"What have you done to me?!"

"Nothing serious," she said idly, looking down at him through veiled eyes. "Just ensured a bit of safety for both of us..."

"Both of us?!" Harry shot back, "you expect me to believe that, after all the lies you've fed me? I'll crush you once I'm free, take my word!"

"You won't have a choice," Calli replied with a smirk, "for better or for worse, the two of us now share a bond, for lack of a better word. A two-way road, if you will. You gain some of my strength, and at the same time, I gain your support."

"What makes you think I'll ever do what you say?! I'd sooner kill you than listen to you!"

"And you'd die in the process," Calli said with a laugh, enjoying the dumbstruck look on Harry's face. "Two way street, Harry, two way street. Think twice before you harm me, because you'll be doing the same to yourself."

"Why did you do this?" Harry asked, "I would have helped you nonetheless."

"Over time, Harry," she said, "I have learnt that humans are nothing more than liars and cheats – I would rather have a failsafe than trust in one of your kind. Besides, in this way, you have no way of backing out, of going back on your deal."

"I could kill myself," Harry threatened, "Two way deal, right? That would mean the end of you too, wouldn't it?"

"It would," she said calmly, like she was commenting on the weather, "but you won't do it. You're a _hero,_ Harry, taking down Dark Wizards and rescuing damsels in distress. You wouldn't run away from Voldemort by taking the easy way out."

"You never know," Harry said, "I could roll into this table and make it fall. I could let the glass shatter and fall on me. That might be enough to kill me."

Violet eyes met green, before she smiled. Harry slumped, knowing his bluff had failed.

"Impressive attempt, Harry Potter," she praised, but Harry only scowled in reply. "But you are centuries too early to even think of deceiving me."

"I'll find a way to get back at you for this," Harry promised, a scowl etched onto his face. "If it's the last thing you do."

"Oh, it _will_ be the last thing you do," she said in return. "Besides, you got what you wanted, didn't you? You will benefit from the bond as well. Already you will be able to gain a rudimentary sensation of magic around you, while you receive a bonus of a nice little increase in your strength."

Harry was so surprised that he shut up for a second, and then he realized it. It was like a faint buzzing in his skull, as if his brain was taking in a completely new set of sensations. It was very faint, but he could feel a faint aura coming off Callida.

"Yes, you can feel it, can't you?" Calli asked, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Under my tutelage, you will be able to nurture that talent along with several others."

_What have I landed myself into?_

"You can go to hell!" he said, "I wouldn't dream of taking lessons from you."

A smack across the face caught him off guard. "Foolish boy," she hissed, and a primal part of him was suddenly terrified at the anger on her face. "Still you whine and complain, when you have been given something men _have_ sold their souls for! I could have raped you where you sat and drained you until you were nothing but a husk, I could have crushed your mind until you wouldn't be able to remember who you were!"

Harry blanched, but quickly covered it with an expression of anger. Calli, however, noticed and seized on it to continue further.

"You want to defeat Voldemort?" she asked imperiously, "then I would suggest you grow up first. You're going to need every ounce of power and every bit of cunning you can dredge up to beat him, and you should be thanking me on bended knee that I let you get off so lightly in our deal. I felt the Dark Lord's power when I was his captive, Potter, and you are nothing but a cockroach before his power!"

"But –"

"But nothing! All power comes at a price," Harry froze as he heard the same words he had heard not so long ago, "and you paid a very small one in my opinion."

"You latched yourself onto my _soul!_" Harry yelled, "How is that getting off easy?"

"I'm also actively preventing the Dark Lord's soul fragment from doing the same, if you didn't notice in your jaunt inside!" she snapped.

Harry froze completely as the true enormity of the situation hit him. "Voldemort's _soul_ is inside me?" he asked, suddenly feeling unclean and filthy.

"Yes," she replied tersely, "it is a kind of magic even I have not heard of, leading me to believe that it draws on the very roots of Dark Magic. You are going to need everything you can muster to fight that, Harry," she said, reverting to the usage of his given name, "so I'm going to ask you one last time. Yes, I played you like a harp and used you for my own gain. Yes, at the same time, you gained some benefits from it. Yes, it does increase your chances somewhat of surviving the war to come."

"And finally, Yes, your power could increase if you trained under me instead of trying to fight what I've done. So what say you, Harry Potter?"

_I should have heeded the book's warning,_ Harry thought as his mind began racing a mile a minute, _Succubi were said to have played with men until they were nothing but slaves at their command._

_But what other option is there?_ Another part of his mind argued. _This actually could have been a lot worse! Yes, I got tricked, but at the same time, I can't got something out of it, if what she says is true._

_But how can I trust what she says anymore?_

_I can't._

"I don't trust you," he said, glaring up at her impotently.

"It would be foolish of you to do so," she agreed, sounding unsurprised, "but actions will speak louder than my words in time. You are yet to answer me, though," she said, raising her eyebrow.

"I'll learn for now," he growled, hating the victorious look in her eye. Shifting his gaze away, he left her with one last threat.

"But you _will_ pay for what you've done."

**XoX**

This had been long overdue, Harry thought, as he made his way down to the village. He was under his Invisibility Cloak – it had never failed to give him a sense of security. When he was under it, he was hidden and safe away from the world and all its troubles.

Dobby's cries for forgiveness were still ringing in his ears as he walked down the earthen road that led into the village. The elf had been devastated that he had failed his master in his time of need, and only Harry's timely interference had stopped him from punishing himself in proportion to the severity of his transgressions.

_It's not your fault, Dobby,_ Harry had told him, throwing a dirty look at the other, smugly grinning occupant of the room. The teenage wizard had only just managed to stop himself from hurling a couple of Curses at the Succubus.

His mind was still festering with plans, though, as he let his legs carry him down the road. Callida had said that he couldn't kill her without killing himself...

_But she didn't say anything about causing her any pain,_ Harry thought, a smirk growing on his face.

He stopped short as he finally arrived at the destination he had been headed towards. How he had found it he didn't know – perhaps he felt a pull towards his home even after all these years?

Home. The word felt strange on his tongue, as he looked at the ruins of the cottage in front of him. The top left corner of the house was blown in, and he was sure that that was where he had been given his scar.

He reached out to touch the wicket gate, and almost like it recognized his touch, a sign sprang up from the overgrown garden.

His heart soared as he read the plethora of messages on it – not one of them carried anything negative in them; they carried only messages of support, kindness and...heroworship?

Harry shuddered slightly, Colin Creevey inexplicably crossing his mind.

He opened the gate and walked inside cautiously. His hand trembled as he walked the length of the garden, his eyes drinking in the sights around him before he reached for the doorknob.

Twisting it open and making his way inside, he immediately noticed that it seemed to be quite clean – this was obviously some sort of tourist destination. He couldn't pinpoint the sensation that the thought gave him, deciding to dwell on it later.

The moonlight drifting through the air made it unnecessary for him to light up his wand as he ran his hand over the table of the living room.

Had they sat here together as a family, him and James and Lily, before Voldemort had come and torn their family apart? He knew without a shade of doubt here that he had been loved here, where he was baby Harry, a young couple's first son.

He made his way upstairs and turned right towards his parents' bedroom. The queen-sized bed looked like it had been made that very evening, with not a wrinkle out of place. Photographs adorned the place, and he recognized _all_ of them from the album Hagrid had given him.

For that very reason, he let them remain, and also because of the fact that items missing from the Potter home would undoubtedly throw up a stink.

After he had stayed in the room for what seemed like an indeterminable amount of time, he turned away and walked across the corridor to his room, only pausing for a few moments to look at the bathtub in the small room next to his own nursery.

The door to his room was open – deliberately or by chance he did not know, and he found it hard to care as he looked at the wreckage before him.

While protective spells had obviously been cast to protect it from the elements, nothing else had been changed here as well. In the corner was a crib, where he had vanquished Lord Voldemort for the first time when he was nothing more than a child.

And that old dream resurfaced again, as Harry caressed the toy duck that rested on one of his shelves and took in the pale blue shade of the walls.

_A high, cold laugh...a flash of green light..._

Harry turned around and walked away, making his way down the house. His chest felt tight as memories started to return to him of his encounters with Voldemort, and he realized that the house was still not free from the demons of the past.

He made his way outside and turned around to look at the place where it had all begun, before he made his way outside and onto the main road.

It wasn't long after that he came to the war memorial in the main square, but it changed its appearance as he neared. Once more, he wondered at the scar-less baby in Lily's arms, and at the look of pure love on their faces – or was he simply imagining it because that was the way he hoped it was?

Again he stood gazing at the memorial and mulling over his thoughts, before he moved past it and made for his final, most awaited destination.

He had to walk a bit before he found the graveyard, but he quickened his pace once it came into view. As he pushed open the kissing gate and made his way inside, a cool breeze picked up and caressed his face, and he felt like he was almost being welcomed inside.

He paced through the gravestones, wondering at the many familiar names he found, and wondering how he had so many roots in this village.

It was then that he found them, not too far away from one of what must have been Susan Bones' ancestors.

_James Potter_

_Lily Potter_

He finally let the emotions that had been building up within him go, and tears raced down his cheeks as he crumpled to his knees before them.

"Mom, dad," he whispered, "It's me, Harry. Your son."

For a second, he had the inkling of a thought that this was a stupid thing to do, but he pushed that thought away even before it had a chance to form completely in his head.

This was his parents, and he was their son, and there was nothing stupid or infantile about this.

"I'm scared," he confessed, finally naming the sensation he had been feeling after Calli's ploy had been revealed. "I'm out of my depths here, Mum, Dad. I'm lost, and I don't know what to do. It seems like everybody's trying to manipulate me, and I'm flying blind. Can't I trust anybody?" he whispered. "Dumbledore, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Calli...they've all turned on me, and I don't know if I can take it anymore."

Almost like magic, a lone leaf curled down, borne by the wind and over his shoulder. He took it as a sign, curling his fist around it and clenching down hard on it.

"I know," he whispered, imagining that they were speaking back to him. "I'm trying to be strong, to not give up, but it's so hard. I don't know how long I can keep this up."

But they had no real reply for him, because they were nothing but bones in the ground now. Harry began sobbing in earnest as no answer made itself known, until he was clenched over and crying out his pain and frustration, feeling every inch like the lonely and helpless teenager he was.

He was surprised when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes and growled when Callida came into view.

_How dare she come and disturb me HERE?!_ He raged, but she spoke before he could.

"I know I shouldn't have come, but I have to look out for you too," she said softly, taking him by surprise. "My life is now in your hands as much as yours is in mine."

Harry tried to ignore the weight of that sentence, instead concentrating on the rest of her speech.

"You've been following me?" he half snarled, half asked. "How long?"

She sighed. "Long enough. Harry, you can't afford to break down now –"

"So when _do_ I get to break down?" Harry roared, his temper snapping. "When do I get a chance to be normal, to be happy? Why does it have to be me in this – _stupid_ – fight?"

"Are you quite done?" she asked, as he panted once he had finished ranting.

"Yes," Harry muttered, now feeling stupid, even though it did feel rather good to vent.

"Good," she said, "we can now get to work on your skills."

"Already?" he asked, too surprised to even throw a dirty comment her way.

"Would you rather wait for Voldemort to hunt you down?" she asked politely, as she gave on last respectful nod of his head at his parents, vowing to return with flowers the next time.

"No," he replied through gritted teeth, "What do you want to teach me?"

"Mistress," she replied, catching him off guard, "Call me Mistress when I'm training you."

Harry almost spluttered in shocks at the connotations of her words and the way she emphasized that word in a breathy voice, but he managed to reel his temper in at the last moment.

"Self-control," she said, sounding approving, "you'll need it for what I teach you next."

"And what might that be?" Harry asked, telling himself that it would do him no good to curse her senseless while she still had something left to teach him, "Mistress," he added as she threw him a look, disliking the way the word felt on his tongue.

"Occlumency," she replied simply, but it was enough to catch Harry's interest.

"The Mind Arts?" he asked, surprised. They were a rather exotic branch of magic he had come across during his extensive reading for the Tournament, but he had been able to find nothing but the barest of descriptions. "You'll teach me to seal my mind off from foreign attacks?"

She was so surprised that she almost fell over in shock. They came to a stop and she regarded him for a long moment before she threw her head back and laughed.

_Don't curse her,_ Harry told himself firmly, _don't curse her, however much you want to. She can teach you stuff._

"Oh, that was priceless," she said, wiping a stray tear from her eyes, "what, did you imagine building walls around your mind or a mindscape like your soul?"

That was actually exactly what Harry had imagined when he had read about it, but he wisely kept silent.

"You poor thing," Callida said, still shaking her head in exasperation, "Occlumency is all about learning to _lie._"

**XoX**

**Author's Note: As you can see, my writing style has changed somewhat – I think – and the characters have taken a slight turn as well. I hope this doesn't go down too badly, because I can work with this, trust me. **

**Reviews, then? Thank you beforehand. You people haven't let me down so far, far from it!**


	9. A Game of Lies

**Author's Note: DON'T SKIP THIS. Yes, as much as I hate to say it, I deleted the current version of Chapter 9 and reuploaded with a re-edited end. This'll probably earn me no reviews and possible hate, but both you and I know that the previous version was killing it. **

**What can I say? Being a teenager is hard. You undergo mood swings, think something is brilliant and write it down and publish. Then you go back and realize you were an idiot and so is your protagonist. I solemnly swear that I'll give it at least 2 days before I upload a new chapter after writing henceforth. **

**Changes? A smarter, more cautious Harry. An explanation for Calli's mood swings which would put even teenagers for shame. And manipulation - HP fandom's most loved word - from Harry's human teacher.**

**On the bright side, new chapter coming out next Sunday. Hope you like this one better now. I know I do. Webs and lies everywhere...**

**And oh, this story. It's like a bad rash that won't leave me alone. Write it I must, however much it gets hated or flamed.**

**Chapter 9: A Game of Lies**

_Concentrate._

Harry was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the library, his back ramrod straight yet his mind completely relaxed. Meditation was a habit he'd picked up last year, and it was serving him well now as he tried to make sense of what was going on in his life.

Voldemort was back. That was always at the forefront of his mind; try as he might to ignore the fact that there was a real-life, wand slinging madman out their gunning for him.

Dumbledore was currently ignoring him; even though – much to Harry's amusement – he had apparently been searching high and low for Harry since he had disappeared from Number 4 Privet Drive. The old headmaster had even managed to get the Ministry of Magic to announce a reward for locating him somehow, making Harry snort at the sight of the 100 galleon sum printed below his photo on the front page.

Blade, his teacher, was currently off doing Merlin-knows-what. For a second, Harry thought about how Blade would react to another teacher, and then decided that what Blade didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

_Or maybe it _would_ be better if I talked to him about my situation, _Harry wondered, before he decided against it. _Not trusting anybody else I don't know too well again,_ he rationalized.

And that, of course, led to the final person currently revolving around in his thoughts, Callida. The Succubus had played him easier than the magicked harp on the third floor corridor three years ago, and it still stung to remember how badly he had fallen for it.

However, he could not deny her efficiency as a teacher. She was able to explain concepts quickly and easily, and in a manner that didn't end up giving him a headache after listening to her lecturing him for half-an-hour.

Meanwhile, he grinned as he finally managed to get a read on the magic around him in the air. While he was still too inexperienced to manage reading auras or intent, he could tell that he was in a magic saturated area. It was like a very thin fog around him, pervading the very air he breathed, entering his body through his nose and dispelling through his entire system.

_It's all around me. _He raised his hand hesitantly, like he was expecting to touch the magic he was feeling so tangibly; but he only ended up feeling foolish as he swiped his hand through thin air.

His concentration effectively broken, he could do nothing but open his eyes and look around. He would have to try identifying distinct objects another day – in fact, he felt that he had achieved quite enough for only one day and five hours of practice, really –

"Wow, you really need a hobby," he grit his teeth as he recognized the voice from behind him. Turning away from the French window in front of him which allowed him a beautiful view of the scenery, he found Callida looking at him with a smirk on her face.

_She could be another Malfoy with the amount she smirks, _Harry thought, and then grimaced at the image of her with blonde hair. _Or maybe not, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy._

"You're going to burn out fast if you keep practising like a maniac," she told him, now buffing her nails on –

"Hey! That's my shirt you're wearing!" Harry protested, recognizing both the shirt and the shorts she was wearing as his.

"And is it ever so tight," she cooed seductively, making him go red around the ears despite his best efforts. Even though he averted his eyes quickly from the rather distracting sight, she kept teasing him. "Oh, why look away, Harry? Is it so bad?"

"Foul," Harry commented shortly, brushing past her and out to the corridor before. He heard her shift to follow him, but instead he called out into thin air for his house-elf.

"Dobby!"

"Master called?" The excitable elf appeared immediately, looking up at Harry with his bulbous eyes.

"Dobby, I want you to take measure of her sizes," he said, jerking a thumb behind him and making Callida huff at his rudeness, "and get her a few pairs of clothes from Diagon Alley."

"At once, Master Harry Potter Sir!" the elf seemed determined to perform every task with an obsessive perfection now, after his last couple of 'failures' involving his duty.

Harry couldn't help repressing a smile; it was ironic that the people who he trusted most at this point of time were a house-elf and an owl.

_I really am pathetic,_ Harry thought, before he blanched in horror. _Hedwig!_

In his haste, he had completely forgotten about the owl. She wouldn't be able to fly inside her as well since she was not part of the enchantments around the house, and wouldn't be able enter until Harry or Dobby brought her inside.

He called the house-elf again, ignoring – even enjoying – Callida's infuriated yell as Dobby left her hanging to come obey Harry's command.

"Dobby," Harry said, speaking very fast, "have you seen my owl around recently?"

The house-elf immediately grew nervous, wringing his ears nervously. It was then that Harry noticed with a sinking feeling in his stomach that there were several scratches and cuts along the length of Dobby's limbs, most of them looking like they had been afflicted not long ago.

"She's mad, isn't she?" Harry asked, sweating bullets at the very though.

Dobby nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "She is in the kitchen, Harry Potter Sir. Dobby found her circling the wards last night. I is managing to put her to sleep because she looked very tired, sir," the elf finished, making Harry wince in guilt again. He had sent the owl off with his letters, and completely forgotten about her in the whirlwind of events that had followed.

As if on cue, a terrible screech rang out through the house, making his blood run cold and driving Callida to run out of the room with only a bedsheet around her. Studiously ignoring that sight, Harry quickly ordered Dobby to attend to her and hold her off, while he made his way downstairs.

_Might as well face the music now before it gets worse,_ Harry thought with a gulp, dredging up what Gryffindor courage he had – even though it seemed to quail at the thought of a ferocious owl.

He found her waiting on the kitchen sink, her eyes piercing his very soul.

"I can explain?" he asked weakly, before throwing up his arms as she shot at him like a canon.

"Ouch – No, Hedwig, I seriously can – _Ouch, not the wrist!_ – Hedwig, _Hedwig! I can explain!"_

She settled on the table when he finally grew desperate, eyeing the scratches on his arm with something approaching smugness.

She gave him another blood-chilling look, and he floundered about for a quick excuse – before he grinned with an evil look that would have made the teachers at Hogwarts reminisce fearfully about James Potter.

He immediately put a woe-be-me expression on his face, cooking up his story as he went along. "I was kidnapped, Hedwig," he said mournfully, making her amber eyes widen in surprise. "By the big, bad girl in the room upstairs."

_Even if I can't kill her, she never said anything about intense bodily harm..._

I managed to subdue her with my intensely powerful magical abilities -  
" _Did my owl just roll her eyes? _"and she's now under my control, but only just. She still hurt me, you know..."

He made big green eyes at her; surely owls had maternal instincts to? "She really hurt me..." He added a lip wobble that would have made a young Sirius Black proud.

She scrutinized him intently for a second, as if weighing his words for the truth. Like clockwork, there was a 'thump!' from the ceiling as Callida moved about in the room.

He watched as that sound cemented it for his owl, who flew out of the window with a fearsome look – if it was possible for owls to look fearsome – on her face. Harry bounded up the stairs to at a time so that he wouldn't miss the show, a smile growing on his face until it was almost splitting his face apart.

He now understood why his father was a prankster back in the day – it was a great way to release stress _and_ take revenge on any evil-doers.

"Ooh, what a pretty bird – Ouch, what the- _Ouch!_"

Harry doubled over laughing as he heard the sound of Hedwig's assault on the Succubus, before the door was thrown open with such force that he was almost blown off his feet.

His eyes widened in shock as he looked at the prostrate form of his owl on the bed, but Callida followed his line of eyesight. "She's just sleeping," she explained, "I wouldn't kill your owl."

Harry realized two things – that she somehow knew that Hedwig was his owl, and that she sounded far, _far_ too calm for his liking.

He decided to question the former before she acted on the latter. "How did you know she was mine?" he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

"Your magical signature on her," she answered shortly, before a mad glint entered her eye. "So, you thought you would play tricks on your teacher, did you? I think it's time we started your physical training, Harry –"

Harry was already running down the stairs and out into the garden before she had completed her statement, not even sure of where he was going as long as it was _away_ from her. He had witnessed her strength before and had no desire to experience it first hand, he decided.

"You can run, Potter, but you can't hide," she cooed dangerously behind him, much too close for his liking.

A budding prankster he may have been, but Harry Potter was far from the level of his father for the foreseeable future.

**XoX**

"Pain in the –?"

"Don't ask, Durums," Harry growled, shifting his position on the tree stump. He was sure Callida's tail had left a permanent mark on his behind. "You're early."

"And you've somehow managed to do the impossible," his teacher commented, looking at the area around him where the wards were supposed to be, "got anything to do with the Succubus up on the second floor?"

Harry stiffened. He hadn't seen the old man around at all, until he had caught sight of him making his way up the garden path.

"There's not a lot that goes in on my house that I don't know about, Potter," the old man said softly, his blue eyes glinting. "So, I'll start again. Your bum's not doing too well?"

Clamping down on the smart comment that was just asking for, he replied, "Yes."

"Verbose today, I see. How did that happen?"

"Revenge gone awry."

"And why would you want to take revenge on your – my, actually – houseguest?" If Blade was annoyed by his short answers, he didn't let it show.

"Long story."

"I got time."

"And if I don't want to tell you?" Harry challenged, clenching his teeth.

"Then you can pack your bags and get the hell out of my house, Potter," Blade shot back, even though his voice was as level as others. "You're getting to paranoid, boy. Know who you remind me of now, sitting there all alone on that tree stump?"

"Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Nice try," Blade finally cracked a small smile, even though it was just the rising of one corner of his lips. It vanished the second he continued, though, "Tom Marvolo Riddle, boy. You want to end up like him?"

Harry froze on his position on the stump. "How do you know that name?" he almost whispered, recognizing the childhood name of the darkest wizard in several centuries.

"You scratch my back, I scratch yours, Potter. Now, I'm going to try _one last time,_ and I'm asking you to trust me as your teacher here," Blade said, his expression grim, "why the hell is there a supposedly extinct creature in your room?"

And with no other choice, Harry had to tell the entire story of his meeting and time with Calli to the old man.

"So let me see if I'm hearing you right," Blade asked when he had finished, "in the time I've left you alone, you have managed to infiltrate the Ministry _and_ the Department of Mysteries, fight a handful of Death Eaters, and come across the last living member of a species thought extinct?"

"But you're missing the most important point!" Harry protested.

"There's still hope for you, lad!" Blade continued as if Harry hadn't interrupted, a smile breaking out on his face. Harry was startled for a second; it changed his appearance completely and made him appear grandfatherly in a very...familiar way?

Shoving that into the back of his mind for later review, Harry tried to make his point again. "She tricked me and used me, doing some sort of weird magic to my _soul!_"

He was almost caught by the Bone-Shattering Curse that came out of nowhere, diving out of the way just in time because he could minutely sense it coming towards him.

"Very, very minor precognitive ability to sense spells coming at you," Blade commented casually like he was talking about the weather and hadn't just thrown a potentially debilitating spell at Harry. "Not at an ideal level yet, but a hell lot better than what I had expected. Workable, definite potential if you work at it."

"Are you ma-?"

Harry rolled away again from the volley of spells that followed, throwing up a shield and countering with several of his own immediately.

_Training exercise_, he belatedly realized, his mind overcome with the rush of battle. _I hope._

"Shielding, good," Blade said, throwing up a shield Harry hadn't even seen his wand move to form, "Now, almost reflexive fight senses – a muscle memory you shouldn't have gained yet, Potter. A nice rise in adrenaline levels if I'm not mistaken," the man casually parried Harry's series of Bludgeoning Hexes, sending them back to the shocked teenager.

"What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?!" Harry yelled, alerting the other member on his house.

"Come on, boy, is that all you can do?" Blade taunted, "is that the bad blood from your Mudblood mother shining through?"

Whether it was because Harry had always hated that word or the fact that he had simply been itching for a fight, Harry's temper snapped. Almost unconsciously, he brought his wand down in a slash, shooting off three sizzling Bone-Breakers. Following through with the motions, he raised the wand back up in an arc and fired a Stunner before he made two tiny circles with his wand for the Punching Hex.

"That's better," Blade replied, even though he made mincemeat of all of Harry's efforts to hurt him, "Chaining spells as a result of a definite increase in speed, not to mention," Blade took an appreciative glance at the web-like series of cracks on his shield, "an appreciable increase in base power."

His teacher was forced to dodge out of the way the very next second when a tail snapped through the air where his head had been seconds ago, its end sharp and pointed like a sword. The next thing Harry knew, his other teacher was upon Blade, trying to land a hit on him.

The old man was almost ridiculously agile for his age, until the Succubus upped the ante and swept his feet out from under him and made him land heavily on his back.

"Ooof!" exclaimed the old man, ignoring the fact that Callida was now pressing her feet to his Adam's Apple, "now that's a workout I haven't had in ages."

"Who are you and why were you attacking Harry?" Callida asked, her face set in stone much like Blade's own minutes ago.

"Oh, he hasn't told you?" Blade asked, managing to throw the teenage wizard a reproachful look even from his position under Callida's leg. "I'm his teacher, Blade Durums, and might I add that your legs look mighty fine from down here this beautiful morning?"

"Oh great," Harry commented before he could stop himself, "another teacher who's a pervert."

"And proud of it," Blade said, wiggling his bushy eyebrows at the Succubus.

"I'm not a pervert!" Callida protested, even though she was looking at Harry for an explanation.

"Some help here?" Blade interfered in their staring contest, "No?" the old man sighed, before getting to his feet. "No respect for the old nowadays, young hoodlums."

"Your teacher?" the succubus asked, raising her eyebrows. "You never told me you had one –"

"I don't know, I thought you ripped it out of my mind when you violated my soul," Harry replied, making her bristle. Blade suppressed what seemed suspiciously like a snort, but he was casually inspecting his wand when the two of them threw a dirty look his way.

"I thought we'd been over this," Callida began, rubbing her temples.

"No, _you_ got over it," Harry replied, "_I_, on the other hand, am not getting over it anytime soon!"

"Listen to you," she sighed, "you sound like you're a young maiden talking about your virginity!"

There was no mistaking it; Blade couldn't hide his laughter this time.

"Stop laughing!" the two of them yelled at him together, before they resumed glaring at each other.

"Easy now," Blade said, raising his hands up in the air as a show of peace, "I don't want to hurt any of you. Potter, walk with me."

Calli looked doubtful of his abilities to carry through with his warning, but Harry didn't doubt the old man. Nodding his head and shooting one last glare at her, he fell into step beside his teacher.

"I can't stay here any longer," Blade told him, and his face fell, "they'll already be looking for me in the village."

"Who'll be looking for you?" Harry asked curiously.

"The rest of my gang," he explained easily. "Now listen to me, boy. I'll be back in four days, and I will be staying for three days. Meanwhile, I want you to keep working on your magic. Finish the homework for Hogwarts while you're at it."

Harry nodded, excited at the prospect of finally getting to learn from his teacher properly, even though he was curious about the gang Blade had mentioned.

"Now," continued Blade, "if you haven't noticed, I was assessing your skills when we were fighting. Most of which you _didn't have before,_" he said with a pointed look at Harry.

Understanding dawned, making Harry's eyes widen. "You mean –"

"You will soon be part of the fight, Potter," Harry suddenly realized that his teacher was actually an old man, "it's inevitable. Voldemort will hunt you down himself, and you will need every extra edge you have against his _fifty_ years of experience. In war, Potter, it doesn't matter how you complete your mission – whether you gain or lose from it, as long as you complete the damn mission!"

"This is different!" Harry protested, "She lied to me! She messed with my soul!" he reiterated, trying to drive his point home again.

"And so we arrive at the heart of the matter," Blade commented. "You're actually angrier because she lied to you than for what she did. And you need to grow up and forget the fairy tales, Potter. Not all soul magic is bad – you would know, wouldn't you?"

_The Magicus Extremos,_ Harry realized, suddenly wishing he had never heard of the damn ritual. It all seemed to have gone downhill from there...

He nodded, even though he remained unconvinced. Blade noticed, evidently.

"Think on it, Potter," the old man said, "I know it's not nice, but nobody ever said war was all about rainbows and unicorns." Harry couldn't help but snort at his words, "Besides, from what I see, it's mostly positives you've gained. You should thank your lucky stars because men have sacrificed much, much worse for much, much less."

_Like Voldemort,_ Harry thought solemnly.

"I'll look into the darkness you described in your soul, though," Blade said, his face completely solemn now. "That doesn't sound too good to me. I'll get into touch with some of my contacts at once."

_Maybe there's a spell that'll allow me to destroy it if I enter that state again?_ Harry wondered.

He was about to voice his thoughts to Blade, but then he noticed that they had bypassed the wards and the man had Disapparated with nary a whisper.

_I gotta learn how to do that,_ Harry thought as he made his way back to the house.

**XoX**

Occlumency, Callida had told him – he still refused to think of her or refer to her as simply Calli anymore – was the art of lying. In essence, he had to tell untruths in such a fashion that he believed them himself, leading to the person invading his mind to find no falsity in his memories. Which meant that he may also have to make up false memories on the fly if his enemy gained entrance into his mind.

It was much more complicated than he would have liked, but he couldn't help but agree that it was a useful skill to have.

In contradiction to common belief about the Mind Arts in general, Occlumency would not allow him eidetic memory or the ability to compartmentalize his thoughts. The very idea of doing so sounded strange even to Harry.

Instead, in the process of practicing the Art, Callida had told him, he would manage to increase the flexibility of his thoughts until he could observe and process several things at once while doing something entirely different. In essence, it was the act of sharpening his mind while keeping it as flexible as a rubber band at the same time.

_So, Occlumency,_ Harry summed up concisely at the end of his recollection, _not easy._

Nevertheless, he was in the living room with Callida, working on the very basics of the art.

_Lie, Harry,_ Calli had told him before beginning. Which is of course why he was doing the exact opposite to rile her up.

"Who are you?" the Succubus asked him. She had decided not to invade his mind first, but simply get him used to the idea of the art.

"Harry James Potter," he replied with an easy smile.

"I don't think you're getting the concept, Harry," she said, gritting her teeth.

"Oh, I am," he replied, enjoying this far more than he should be, "maybe I'm just hiding my lie with another lie, making it the truth, but actually making you think it's a lie?"

Callida blanched, before narrowing her eyes and glaring at him so viciously that he was sure that a few years were shaved off his life thanks to bad karma alone.

"I'm going to try one last time, Harry," while the teenager in question stared in fascination at her mildly twitching left eyebrow. "Tell me more about yourself," she said sweetly, even though her eyes promised acute vengeance if he didn't comply.

"Oh, the usual," Harry replied, lazily resting his head in his hands and leaning back, "Defeated a Dark Lord at the age of one, left at the doorstep of aunt and uncle at the age of two, grew up Muggle, discovered Magical World, ended up fighting a Dark Lord or a dark creature every year at school." He rattled off in one breath before continuing, "Triwizard Champion my fourth year," she raised her eyebrow, impressed despite herself, "rescued a Succubus summer before my fifth year, graciously offered her shelter and my protection, get backstabbed by her because she couldn't bring herself to tell the trut-"

A sharp smack to the face stopped him short. He raised his hand to the cheek and found a trickle of blood, and his eyes narrowed to near-slits.

Callida was on her feet as well, fury in her eyes and in her stance, her tail still aloft in the air.

"Get over yourself!" she shrieked, breathing heavily in anger. "Stop acting like it's the end of the world just because I told you _one_ little lie –"

"One little lie?" he asked, finally getting the fight he had been seeking all day. "_One little lie? _You put me in a trance and took over my soul! I felt your _freakish_ presence within me when I –"

Another slap, this one making his cheeks sting in pain. He knew that his words would hurt; he'd used it on purpose because he knew how terrible it felt to hear that word from his own childhood.

"Maybe if you had just accepted it, it wouldn't feel so strange to you!" she yelled.

Dobby had appeared on the scene, and even Hedwig was sitting on the windowsill, eyeing them suspiciously.

A raised hand from Harry kept them fixed in their places, while he never took his eyes of the Succubus. "Accept it? You sent me on that trip by making promises of power like I've never had before, and then you –"

"Well, don't you have the power?!" she screamed, "I heard your teacher today morning, and it seems you got off the deal just fine! Why don't you just accept that you're angry because you fell for my lie?"

"Maybe I am!" Harry shot back, "maybe I am, because I had decided to trust one damn person after my _best friends_ deserted me last year, and she stabbed me in the back too!"

She flinched at that, but didn't back down from the fight. "Well, you need to get over yourself! How many times do I have to tell you that it is sometimes necessary to make a sacrifice –"

"Sacrifice?" Harry cut her off with a harsh laugh, "Oh, small sacrifice it is, having another filthy piece of somebody else's soul inside me!"

For a second, she was completely still. Then, something about her _changed_ inexplicably. One second, she was a normal girl - well, as normal as somebody of a different species could be - and the next second, she was a predator, looking at him with glinting eyes.

"Insulting me?" her voice was svelte, confident, and terrifying. Harry backed up slightly without even meaning to. "Big mistake."

Her tail shot out faster than he could see, catching him square across his cheeks.

It was like he'd been hit by a piledriver. Harry went flying back, crashing against the wall painfully. As the breath left his lungs in an instant, he looked up to see her bearing down on him.

He plunged his hand into his pocket and seized his wand, not noticing that he _was_ moving faster than usual. Callida, however, was faster.

Her tail snapped out again, catching him on his temple. Stars exploded in his vision and the world swam dangerously for a scary second, before it righted itself.

He managed to send off a Body Bind at her, which she dodged gracefully. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry asked, fighting to not give in to his fear. "You're _mad!_"

She paused in her advance, her lips curling. "That I am," she agreed, raising her tail for another attack.

Harry flinched almost unconsciously, but events took a surprising turn for the better.

There was a loud clang!, and the barest hints of surprise registered in Calli's eyes. Then, without warning, she fell forward in a dead faint, a frying pan following her trajectory down to the ground.

Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief when he saw Dobby standing behind her, another pan held in his hand and his magic crackling around his long fingers.

"You." Dobby said, his voice uncharacteristically calm, "will _not_ harm Harry Potter."

**XoX**

"Well, isn't this a familiar scene?" Harry asked, unable to hide his open smirk. Calli groaned as she awoke, her eyes unfocused for a second before they widened as her memory returned.

The succubus tried to sit up from her supine position on the floor, but found that she was unable to. Testing her strength, she found that the ropes binding her were magically reinforced. Turning her head slightly, she found Dobby standing over her, frying pan at the ready in case she flew off the handle again.

She didn't say anything, only looking up silently at him.

"Now that won't do at all," Harry said, squatting to his haunches and narrowing his eyes. The teenage wizard was clearly enjoying having the upper hand over her finally. "Less silence, more talk."

"I still can't believe that you're mad about the bond," Calli finally ground out, her eyes shooting sparks at Harry's green ones.

"The bond?" Harry mused, now looking mock idly up and down the length of his wand, his voice ambivalent. "No, not really."

She was taken by surprise, and it showed on her face. Harry took that as his cue to continue.

"What I'm really angry about is the fact that you had to lie to me to forge the bond," he said conversationally, like his wand wasn't currently shooting little sparks from its end. "And also about the fact that you seem to suffer from a really bad case of different personalities."

He knew that he'd hit upon something relevant when she flinched at his words before her eyes shuttered and she closeted up.

He poked the end of his wand against her cheek, letting his anger show for the first time. "I'm really at the end of my tether, Callida. You can explain, or I can turn you over to the Ministry before the night is out."

"And give your own position away in the process?" she shot back with a smirk. "Really, Harry, you've got to bluff better."

Her smirk faltered when an identical one bloomed on his face. "Why ever would that be? One simple spell, and your mind would be as blank as a slate before Dobby apparated you right into the Ministry."

Harry knew it was a bluff, but he kept his face guarded carefully. He was determined to win this game of lies and double-crosses, and he knew that he'd succeeded when she finally slumped down on the floor.

"You'd hurt yourself if you did that to me," she tried weakly, aware that she had killed that particular lie only minutes ago.

"Try again," Harry said, his grin positively eerie. "You smacked me around without impunity just fine, without getting hurt yourself. That's one bluff down. Next try?"

She sighed, and a long silence stretched between them. Harry was infuriatingly patient, but she noticed that he never did let go of his wand.

She would have to do it, she realised. She'd have to come out with the truth, despite the side of her that was screaming at her to keep her cards close to her chest, to somehow find a way to win this game of untruths.

But Callida was still a young person despite her horrible experiences, and she was tired of it all. And maybe Harry could even help her...

"You're right," she said finally, grudgingly.

"Pardon?" The dark haired wizard tilted his head to the side, looking inquisitively down at her.

"You're right," she ground out again, "I - I think -"

"Wait, you mean to tell me that you're actually a mad person?" The very next instant, his wand was pointing plumb at her nose.

"Well, no! I mean - ye- _no!_" she said finally. If she had expected Harry to be amused despite her flustered state, she was mistaken. His eyes were hard and his face a mask.

"No, I don't think we'll be travelling down that path again, now that I've seen your true side," he said quietly. "Out with it, succubus."

She winced at his words, before she spoke. "Have you ever wondered how I can speak your tongue?"

He was visibly taken aback by her question, but she continued before he could ponder on it. "When I first found out that I had been captured, I fought against my jailors. I - I used every weapon I was capable of, including my worst power -"

A sharp intake of breath was his only reply as he understood what she was talking about.

"I used the very power which my kind now use in their own perverted way. I ripped out a man's mind with my tail, absorbing his knowledge, his experiences..."

"But Succubi are creatures of the soul," Harry whispered, his eyes betraying his disgust.

She could only nod, before continuing in a low voice that matched his. "I took his essence, the very thing that made him who he was. I used the Forbidden Power against him, and even now I pay the price. A part of me is now that cruel, vicious man. Sometimes, my thoughts are not my own. Often, I find patches of time where I cannot remember what I did, before it all comes floating back to me and I find myself repulsed."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" It hurt her to hear those words, but she knew that she deserved it. "How do I know that this isn't another ploy to deceive me -?"

"I swear it on my life and my magic as a Succubus," she said simply, cutting him short.

Harry instantly felt a wave of magic flow through him, making him tingle down to the ends of his toes. Instinctively, she could tell that she was telling the truth.

But the niggling doubt remained; a voice in his head still protested that she could be manipulating the bond to make it feel that way.

"There's a side of me that feeds on all my negative emotions," Calli continued, looking up at the ceiling now, her eyes distant. "Shrewd and calculating and wise...in its own perverted way. It whispers insidiously in my mind all the time, and sometimes, I cannot help but agree to it. Our ends are the same, but the means very different."

"I still don't believe you," Harry said, displaying his blunt honesty.

She winced, "Then let me prove it to you," she begged. "Let me earn your trust."

Harry was silent for a long, long time, until she had begun to believe that he really _would_ be wiping her memories and handing her over to the Ministry.

Harry, on the other hand, was having a hard time deciding what to do. After being lied to and cheated so many times over the course of the past few months, he was starting to wonder if he could ever trust anybody again.

Hermione had once told him that his greatest weakness was that he was too loyal to those he cared about, unwilling to believe that they could ever wrong him - he trusted them far, far too much. This had been the day after Ron had deserted him, and the day before Hermione had done so herself.

Now, Harry knew that his weakness had changed - his greatest weakness now was his unwillingness to trust.

_Do you know who you remind me of? Tom Riddle._

The words flashed almost unbidden through his mind, and it was they who made his mind up more than anything else.

"I still don't trust you," he finally said, "but I'm willing to give you _one last chance._ You _will_ prove your words to me."

Callida nodded silently, not daring to speak. Harry whispered a quiet _Finite _and ended his enchantment, finally allowing her freedom to move.

"You have to control your inner demons," Harry said, "you have to be strong." He still couldn't shake off the feeling that this was a mistake, that living with a person who could potentially do a one-eighty any second and harm him was a mistake -

_Do you know who you remind me of? Tom Riddle._

The words repeated in his head, and Harry forced them away forcefully. He was still stuck between the boy who trusted his friends to the death and the boy who was learning not to trust at all.

"I'm taking a chance on you, Callida," he said, "and I pr - and I will help you to find a way to control yourself," he'd almost used the word '_promise'_, preventing himself from making that mistake at the last moment. He was sure Callida had noticed, but he was really past caring.

"Meditation helps," she said with a wan smile, the barest of the shadows of a smile.

"Then meditation is what you'll do," he said. "Just no more lies."

If Harry Potter was being honest with himself, he really wanted a real friend again. He'd take what he could right now, just like the eleven year old boy who'd left the Dursleys for a new life.

_Strange how some things come a full circle,_ Harry thought, thinking about Ron; unaware about the plight of his old friend.

"No more lies," Calli repeated quietly, before she whispered in a voice that was barely audible, "Thank you, Harry."

He was completely taken by surprise by what she did next.

Catching him in a body tackle, she drove him to the ground and landed on top of him. Before he could even protest, her lips was on his and she was kissing him with a passion he could never have dreamed of –

His brain almost melted to mush as his eyes closed lazily of its own accord. At that moment, he was aware of a glorious, soothing warmth inside of him. It felt like it was coming from the very core of his being, rushing through every nerve in his body and sending pleasant tingling sensations down his frame.

He was kissing her back without conscious thought, his hands automatically reaching up to sink into her hair and cradle her face.

The warmth was like a blanket, a corona of peace around him; at that moment, he knew that he was exactly what it was to like to have somebody with him who he could trust and care for –

And then it was gone, leaving cold and harsh reality to come flying back in. He gasped from the loss of contact, and made to move, but Callida didn't let him up.

"That was our bond, Harry. Was that so filthy?" she asked quietly, her eyes boring into his. "Was that so bad at all?"

Harry had seen her act silly, be strong and ruthless, but he hadn't thought it possible for her to look this vulnerable.

"No," he replied in a hushed voice, "it wasn't."

"I lost my entire race in the War, Harry," she said, and there was an emotion in her voice he had never heard before. "I watched my mother get caught in that horrible spell just before I passed out. And then I was in a coma for over seven hundred and fifty years, Harry..."

Her eyes were blank, unseeing, even as an inexplicable cold shiver went up Harry's spine.

"I was conscious that entire time," she whispered, making his eyes widen in shock, "I was aware of only darkness, and I could only think of that last scene I had seen, over and over again. Maybe it was the aftershock of the spell, but I couldn't escape that hell until you saved me – And now, I'm stuck in a vicious cycle again. That voice won't let go. That voice is telling me right now to use my powers to break you, to seduce you into submission." Harry was horrified to realize that a small part of his mind belatedly noted that that wouldn't be a very bad thing. "Sometimes, I give in to the voice. I let the darker part take control. I can't help it."

Her eyes softened, and Harry couldn't assuage the torrent of guilt that surged through him. "No more," she whispered, a quiet conviction in her voice. "I'm sorry I lied about the bond. I'm sincerely sorry if it was that important to you, but it was one of the strongest pieces of Succubi magic I could do," she said, "I also thought you would be happy enough with the power you would get to overlook my life, but I was mistaken. I'm sorry," she repeated, and Harry knew that it was from the bottom of her heart.

"I lost everything I had that night, Harry," she continued, a distinct quaver in her voice, "and I told myself that I would do anything to get them back. I didn't even know if I was sane any more after so many centuries, but that was my only aim in life – And now, I _know_ that I'm going mad, that the darkness in me is growing..."

Unbidden, the image of the ghosts of his parents at the graveyard came back to him, standing next to him and telling him that they were proud of him.

_What wouldn't I have done to make that reality?_ He asked himself, _if I knew there was a way to bring them back, would I do it?_ _Would I give in to the darkness inside of me?_

He had the answer without even thinking. Feeling a slight wetness on his forehead, he looked up.

After a moment's of hesitation – where the memory of that warmth flashed through him – he reached up and awkwardly wiped her tears away. She leaned into his touch, and he marveled at the feeling of her soft cheeks under his hand.

"Pretty girls such as yourself shouldn't cry," he whispered, not knowing where that had come from because he had said it almost reflexively.

She gave a watery chuckle. "I'm sorry that I tied you up," she said, "When you began reacting negatively to the Bond, I had no other choice. I was also terribly mean to you," she added. "I didn't know what to do, and the voice was offering a way out," she said by way of explanation, "after centuries of isolation, I don't know how to react to situations – I gave in –"

She fell silent as he nodded, taking in what she had just said. There was a time to talk, because there was still a lot she needed to make up to him, but he would accept what she had said.

_For now. _She was complex; schizophrenic, even, he realized, from her time in isolation. But at the same time, she was a mystery - one that he couldn't help but want to solve.

"So we're okay?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

"No," he replied shortly and with the blunt honesty that was characteristic of him, flinching at the way her eyes shuttered at his answer. Heartfelt though her apology may have been, she had broken his trust and tried to mess with his freedom of spirit – something he prized above all else.

"But we will be, if you promise to be honest with me again," he whispered. "You could just have asked, you know? Told me the truth and I would have considered it."

"And would you have accepted it even if I told you I would essentially do a bastardized version of a Marriage Ritual on you?"

Harry twitched so strongly that Calli almost fell of him. Even so, she let out a giggle as he weakly croaked, "Marriage?"

"Not yet," she replied, making him twitch again, "this was something else done between close friends in our colony, even though it was between members of the same sex."

"Same sex?" he asked, the memory of their kiss suddenly burning like fire in his mind. "You mean –"

She got off him with a mischievous look in her eye. "Be a good boy and maybe I'll tell you about it," she said, making him stiffen in shock.

Laughing at the look on his face, she bounded out of the room, tail waving merrily behind her.

Harry couldn't help but smile at that, feeling like some of the crushing weight on his shoulders had lifted.

And then he thought about what she had just said, and blushed so deeply that Hedwig actually hooted in concern for his health.

_Did she really mean what she said?_

The next thought that passed through his head was, _I may not have lied when I said I could trust her again, but it was definitely a half truth._

Maybe Occlumency wouldn't be so hard after all.

Voices in the head or not, Harry would have a firm grip on his wand this Summer. And he'd be keeping an eye on his human tutor as well.

He'd never been a fan of coincidences. And it was too much of a coincidence for his liking that Blade would turn up just after Callida had forced her bond on him - despite the fact that he'd said that he wouldn't return for a week - and be so casually accepting about their connection.

_That man knows something._

**XoX**

**Author's Note: Don't ask. Despite my best efforts, the kiss just wrote itself. This **_**does not**_** mean that the two of them are in a relationship, though. It just means that Calli will be more of her usual self – but now Harry knows that there's more to her as well.**

**Like I said, next update next Sunday.**


	10. The Legend and the Memories

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Chapter 10: The Legend and the Memories**

"Blade," Harry acknowledged calmly from the sofa, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading.

The man's bushy eyebrows rose up, but he hid it well. "That's Master Blade to you," he retorted gruffly, mumbling about how kids no longer had any respect for their elders. "I see you're getting along fine with your sensing – pulled the stick out of your ass, then?"

A tiny frown was the only indication from Harry that he was still displeased by that event, but he chose not to comment on it.

"So, you're here to teach me?" he asked, unable to hide a bit of his excitement. Suspicious the man may be, but Harry had seen how powerful he was.

"That's the plan," Blade replied, making Harry's stomach tighten in anticipation. "Might as well get started now –"

"Hold on a second there, old man," Callida walked into the room, wearing – Harry was pleased to see – clothes of her own that Dobby had gotten her. "I need to talk to you first."

Harry noticed the glance that passed between them, before Blade said, "All right, Potter. Why don't you go put your stuff upstairs," he gestured at Harry's homework, laid out on the table before him, "and meet me in the garden in twenty minutes?"

Harry nodded silently and gathered up his things with a quick flick of his wand. Moving past the two of them, he made his way up to his room and dumped his stuff on his bed, before collapsing angrily next to him.

He didn't fully trust either of the two of his teachers, and somehow, he didn't like the idea of the two of them putting their heads together. He wished he knew any spells that would help him eavesdrop, because he had no other way to know what they were doing.

He thought about using the cloak, but decided against it. The cloak could be seen through, and Callida would probably sense him coming from a mile away.

He fingered his wand, thinking about what the two of them could be talking about, and what the possible repercussions would be for him. Remembering Blade's instructions, he leapt off the bed and bounded down the stairs. Blade and Callida were nowhere in the house, and he spotted them outside.

Making his way to the garden, he saw that their conversation was obviously drawing to a close. Callida shifted slightly – something he was sure he wouldn't notice before – when she felt him coming, and ended their talk with a sharp nod of his head.

The two of them broke apart as Harry neared, and he couldn't help the irritation it sparked within him. Was he to be kept out of all loops of information?

"Don't look so worried, now, Harry," Callida's voice reached him, snapping him back to attention, "It was just a harmless talk. I just needed Blade to pick some stuff up for me –"

"But more on that later," Blade interjected roughly, "We've wasted enough time. Potter, it's time we took your magical training up a level."

Harry felt excitement explode in the pit of his stomach. Unable to keep a grin off his face, he nodded eagerly and pulled his wand out.

"We're going to duel," said Blade, "so that we can figure out a style and tailor it to suit your needs. But first," he said, "we need to observe, and learn."

As if on cue, Dobby appeared with his customary _crack!_ Hovering in midair in front of him was –

"A Pensieve," Harry commented, raising his eyebrows.

"You and I will be observing some of the common styles of duelling, Potter," Blade explained, waving his wand and directing the Pensieve to float over and come to rest on the stump. "You will pick up the styles you find interesting, and we'll see which one suits you best."

"And if I find that I have an aptitude for more than one?"

"Then we modify them to make your own. Understand this very clearly, Potter," the old man said, his eyes glinting, "these styles are just a guide, a foundation for you to build a pillar on. Your style will be unique to you, and only you; otherwise you'll be dead before you can cast your first spell on the battlefield."

Blade's words seemed to echo in the silence that settled in the clearing after he'd finished speaking. Harry swallowed, taking in the seriousness of his teacher's words.

"Can I watch?" Callida asked curiously, her eyes shining. Blade gave a grunt, which she took as a Yes, and bounded over next to them.

"On three, then," Blade said, as they watched the clear liquid in the bowl mist over and condense, like somebody had dipped a wet paintbrush into clear water. "One...two...three –"

All three of them bent forward, and the very next instant, Harry was standing in a battlefield, watching spells fly around him. For a second, his mind screamed at him to run, before he realized that the spells were flying harmlessly through him; unable to do him any harm.

"I think you'll find this one familiar," Blade said, and indeed, Harry was blinking rapidly as he saw the familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore duelling his way through the marketplace where the fight was taking place. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was obviously younger, and his face was like a mask of steel as he waved and twirled his wand, advancing almost without effort. Everywhere he moved, tigers and lions burst into existence and charged the fighters, droplets of waters condensed and then froze to form projectiles by the dozens, and shrapnel and debris were transfigured into shields and blocks. Dumbledore transfigured, conjured and shielded his way through the masses, occasionally throwing in a spell of such devastation that tens of people were thrown backwards; they didn't get up again.

Harry watched, open-mouthed – the Headmaster was a _machine_, it was like nothing could stop his progress.

"As you can see, that's Albus Dumbledore -" Blade began, only to be cut off by Callida.

"That's Dumbledore?" Callida asked, and then looked sheepish as Blade threw her a piercing glare. "Er, sorry. Continue."

"Yes, _as I was saying –"_ Callida blushed, "that's Dumbledore. His style is also called _The Master,_ because he's reached the pinnacle of his art – Transfiguration – and can use it to such an extent that he's almost unbeatable in a fight. Of course, he also mixes it up every now and then with one of the esoteric spells he's so fond of."

He paused, as Dumbledore vanished silently and appeared on a rooftop, before resuming his attack from his vantage point. "As you can see, the Headmaster also relies on Disapparating and Apparating, which has only gotten better over time after he acquired his phoenix."

Callida opened her mouth to comment, but thought the better of it and remained silent. Blade noticed, and smirked.

"Nevertheless, Albus' personal style," Harry noticed the slip-up; the man was on speaking terms with the Headmaster. "has earned him the title of _der Taschenspieler_." At Harry and Callida's blank looks, he explained, "_The Conjuror._"

'_The Conjuror'_ Harry repeated in his head, admitting that the words were rather apt for his Headmaster. He was a force of nature on the battlefield, mutating and changing the world as he saw fit –

"Blink and you'll miss it," Blade warned, and Harry snapped to attention, "the next person who we'll study is part of this memory as well, and he should be making an entrance right...now-"

Harry turned his eye to the marketplace, and was given pause as he saw...nothing. He was about to turn to Blade for an explanation, when people in the square – the Allied Wizards, he realized – dropped to the ground without warning, clutching at their throats and stomachs. "What-?" he began to ask, but his question was answered for him again.

A man appeared on the rooftop next to Dumbledore's. He was tall and thin like the Headmaster, with light golden hair in sharp contrast to Dumbledore's auburn. In his hand was a dark wand, which Harry recognized faintly but couldn't place.

The man blurred out of view without explanation, and Albus was blown back off the roof. He only just managed to arrest his fall before he hit the ground, and righted himself gracefully a few inches off the paved floor of the market. Dumbledore raised a transparent shield around him, barely noticeable only because of the sunlight glinting off the sides. It was like he'd trapped himself inside a giant invisible fishbowl.

The next second, spells crashed against the shield in a spectacular explosion of colours and sound, making both Harry and the people in the square step back unconsciously. As they recognized the battle going on in the square, they backed away and lined along the edge –

"Why are they doing that?" Harry asked, "why're they running away? Shouldn't they help Dumbledore –"

"It's an old wizarding tradition," Blade replied gruffly, "when two wizards of such obvious power meet, and especially people like them who are pivotal to the battle, they are allowed to duel on thei –"

The rest of his words were lost as another barrage of spells bulleted into Albus' shield, making it flicker for a second. To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore raised the shield after it was done and shot off a volley of his own to the left of where the attack had come from.

"He anticipated his opponent's movements. Grindelwald," Dumbledore said, confirming the suspicion in Harry's mind, "was prodigiously fast on the battlefield, but even he made the mistake of falling into a pattern of attack. Which, in turn," Blade paused for a moment as Harry was treated to the sight of Grindelwald being hit by a series of spells and crashing spectacularly to the ground, "harmed him severely."

"How does he move so fast?" Harry asked, his eyes on Grindelwald, who'd gotten up and resumed the fight almost instantly, "It's almost like – "

Harry paused. It was almost like _him_ when he was on water. Blade must have noticed the dawning comprehension on his face, because he nodded.

"Gellert Grindelwald is one of the three people in the world to have killed a Nundu," Blade said, an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Legend has it that he hunted and killed it in the harsh mountains of Kenya, before he cut his heart out and ate it raw on the ground where the dead beast lay."

"He killed a _Nundu_ alone?" Harry asked, his mouth falling open. Attempting to capture the beast with less than a hundred wizards was counted as suicide, "_How?"_

"The same way one wizard alone managed to kill a basilisk, I suppose," Blade replied with a smirk, making Harry blush. "Nevertheless, much like you, he gained some gifts from the Nundu – in other words, his inhuman speed on land."

"Wait, you killed a Basilisk alone?" Callida asked in awe, her eyes wide in shock.

Harry ignored her, not wanting to get into the retelling of that particular tale, and instead asked Blade, "Why is it that killing a Basilisk or a Nundu gives wizards such power?"

"Olde magicke," Blade answered, his eyes on Harry's. "When magic was first created, according to Pagan mythology, there were some laws laid down. Amongst them were details of some acts, some incalculable acts of power, some deeds that held rewards of their own. Powerful acts deserved powerful rewards –"

Harry knew that he should have considered his own defeat of the Basilisk, but all he could think about after Blade had spoken was of his mother's sacrifice for him, and the incomprehensible power in her action that had managed to turn back even Death itself.

"But that is only one theory," Blade continued, drawing Harry's attention again, "another one is the Sentient Being Theory." Blade paused for a second to gather his thoughts, and something in Harry's mind clicked at that explanation, and he waited for Blade to explain further. "There is a hypothesis that when a magical structure lives for a very long time, it manages to become barely sentient. For example, take your own school, Potter. The moving stairs and changing doorways didn't appear in the school until five hundred years of its founding."

Harry was reminded of just how old Hogwarts really was, while Blade's words brought up a faint memory of him reading about this theory in the library. "But how does this relate to the Basilisk?" he questioned, unable to make the connection.

"Basilisk venom is stored in a small sac in the roof of the snake's mouth," Blade explained, "and it's teeth are hollow as well, to allow it to push its venom into anything it bites. Both Harry and Callida shivered at the explanation, "the particular Basilisk you killed was nearly a thousand years old," Callida gasped again, "and I don't think it ever had the need to inject its venom into something, which meant that the sac didn't have to produce any new venom. As the poison steadily grew older over time, it gathered magic of its own –"

"You mean there's venom inside of me and it's sentient?" Harry asked, disgusted. "I thought Fawkes had destroyed it!"

Blade fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Nothing can destroy Basilisk venom, Potter, not even Phoenix tears. Hell, the only thing that can hold the venom is the Basilisk's tooth itself, which is why the venom has never been harvested and used yet. Dumbledore's phoenix only managed to stop the venom from harming you, it couldn't stop it from affecting you."

Harry could only nod, slightly repulsed by the fact that he had something as repulsive as Basilisk venom inside of him. "I'm guessing that the venom dissipated over time in your bloodstream but managed to augment your magic a bit, allowing you mobility and speed over water, coupled with brilliant reflexes."

Harry digested all of this for some time, before his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he asked Blade, watching his teacher stiffen ever so slightly. "You're this old man whom I've never heard of before, but you hypothesize about obscure magical theories, have memories of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's fights –"

"Who I am isn't important," Blade interjected roughly, "it's what I can teach you." At Harry's mutinous glare, he sighed. "Look, Potter," he said, "I swear I'm on your side, I literally did. That should be enough for you now."

Harry decided to let the matter drop for now, but by no means was he over his curiosity about his teacher. He definitely deserved some investigation into his background on Harry's part.

But Harry kept his cool as Blade changed memories and introduced another wizard. From Gellert '_The Predator' _Grindelwald, they moved on to Dante the Inferno, and kept going past Mwenye the Strong and Loxias the Sneaky. They wound up watching Callisto the Beautiful weave her way through a duel, before Harry decided to comment.

"Blade, er, Master," Harry said, erring on the side of caution and being polite, "all of this is really fascinating, but I don't really think I'm cut out for any of these. I mean," he said, noticing Blade raise his eyebrows, "all these people, they're masters of magic and their craft, and I'm just a student. I mean – er," he petered off, but Callida picked up the slack for him.

"They've mastered different areas of magic and built it into their styles, while Harry here can't claim anything similar," she said, and Harry nodded.

"So you didn't pick up anything from these memories?" Blade asked, seeming amused for some reason. "Didn't see _anything_ you liked?"

Now denying that would be a lie. "Well, I really liked how Dumbledore's mixture of shielding and attacking, and Dante's relentless attacking as well. And there was Gladstone's invisible spells, and Callisto's fire spell –" He definitely liked the latter, the woman wielded fire like it was a toy.

"Then it's been a successful morning," Blade said, "you've done more than I was hoping for. Just one last memory, and I think we'll be done for now."

"Who's the wizard?" Harry asked, somewhat relieved that the entire thing was coming to an end, because he could feel the mildest of headaches making itself known.

"Oh, I think you'll recognize him," Blade said quietly.

And Harry did. When the smoke cleared and the memory came into focus, the first thing Harry saw were snake-like features set in a pale face. The eyes weren't scarlet and snake-like yet, but the long skeletal fingers and the slit nose was. There was no doubt as to who it was -

"Voldemort," the name had escaped his mouth before he could realize it. The Dark Lord looked completely relaxed in battle, amused even, as he saw his Death Eaters lay waste to – Harry felt his stomach drop out when he realized where they were – Diagon Alley.

Screams of pain and fear rent the air, and the Dark Mark hovering above everybody cast a luminescent greenish glow on everything around Harry. It was a scene straight of a nightmare, complete with the smoke rising from the cobblestone path and the fires raging in the stores.

"For the Dark Lord!" a woman's scream rent the air, and Voldemort allowed one corner of his lips to lift up. He tilted his head to the right very deliberately, as if he was contemplating something.

The next second, he began to walk forward slowly, his feet making no noise at all.

_Wasn't he going to cast a spell?_ Harry was confused, because Voldemort's wand lay limply in his hand.

A stray spell whizzed through the air towards Voldemort, but he tilted his head and it flew past into the darkness behind him. After a second, Harry realized that the spell had never been a stray one, as Dumbledore walked into his field of focus for the second time. This time around, though, he was much older and much more familiar to Harry, resplendent in his purple robes and his white beard in stark contrast.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort acknowledged, tilting his head as he continued his inexorable march forward. Dumbledore returned it with one of his own, and Harry realized with a start that they were actually bowing to each other before their duel and recognizing each other as potential threats.

Voldemort finally stopped, and for the first time, his grip around his wand tightened. It was he who made the first move, sending all the debris and rubble around them flying at Dumbledore. The old wizard retaliated by transfiguring them into daggers and reversing their direction of motion, making them fly at Voldemort instead.

The Dark Lord never moved. Waving his wand in a wide arc, he conjured a huge stream of green flame and obliterated with his cursed magic, before he thrust his wand forward. A Chimera of green fire charged Dumbledore, he vanished in a whirl of fire, before he reappeared behind Voldemort.

The Chimera had dissipated into the air in a haze of green power, but still Voldemort held his ground. Another graceful wave of his wand and the ground around him shot up in spikes, forcing Dumbledore to Apparate away again even before the Headmaster could make his attack.

Fear travelled up Harry's spine when something struck him; the Dark Lord hadn't spoken a single word throughout the battle, but he was looking as calm and composed as ever. If Dumbledore had been an unstoppable force, Voldemort was an immovable wall, obliterating anything and everything Dumbledore sent his way and retaliating with crushing spells of his own.

Hopelessness was the next emotion to seize him as he watched Voldemort release no less than _thirteen_ curses at the same time, all of them fairly sizzling with power. _I'm supposed to fight that?_ He wondered, his insides cold. Voldemort would crush him like an _insect_!

"I think that's enough for now," Blade said quietly, as if he was able to sense Harry's distress. He grabbed both Harry and Callida by the arms and hoisted them up, and the next thing he knew, he was standing on the grass outside Blade's house. It was around midday, because the sun was directly above them in the sky. "Voldemort, as you can see, liked to remain rooted to one spot and dominate everything around him. That doesn't mean that he wasn't versatile and fast in the battle, though; he could move faster than a viper when the situation called for him. His actions and deed on the battlefield, however, gave him and his style the title '_The Giant.'"_

"Apt," Harry couldn't help but comment, his mouth feeling dry. "How am I supposed to defeat that?"

There was a long second of silence, before Blade burst out laughing. Caught off-guard, Harry couldn't do much but splutter indignantly at his teacher. It was a long time before Blade stopped laughing, wiping his eyes and still giving the odd snort. Before Harry could protest hotly, he said, "There's no chance in hell you'd be able to defeat the Dark Lord in a fight like that, Potter," he said with another chuckle, "there's a _reason_ he's called the darkest wizard of the last seven centuries."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Harry bit out angrily.

"There's a saying, Potter," Blade replied, "_Never fight with an idiot, because he will drag you down to your level and defeat you. _Now, I'm not calling you an idiot, but I feel that's your best bet to give him a run for his money."

_Drag him down to my level?_ Harry contemplated the wisdom in those words, and accepted that his teacher was probably correct. From what he'd seen of Voldemort's duel, there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that he would be able to take a fully-powered Dark Lord in a fair fight without decades of dedicated practice first.

A sharp stinging sensation in his side brought him back to the real world sharply, as he doubled over, clutching his chest and wheezing. Blade was circling him, his wand out and tip glowing. "Forgotten already, Potter?" he asked, smirking down at Harry. "Now, we duel."

And duel they did.

**XoX**

It had been two and a half weeks since Blade and Callida had both begun tutoring him, and Harry had never been gladder to see Diagon Alley in his life. His entire body ached, his mind was still prone to wandering off at certain times – Harry swore that he was beginning to develop mild schizophrenia. Thankfully, he'd been allowed half the day off from his lessons; however, he did have to research the charms Blade had placed on him to disguise him instead.

It was a novel experience for him to walk into the Leaky Cauldron and go unrecognized, and he had stiffened for a moment on his entry before realizing that nobody would know him with his brown hair and dark eyes. He'd walked straight through the crowd without being halted, made his way into the Alley, and was now walking along the cobblestone path towards Gringotts.

He froze midway, though, when he heard a familiar voice float through the air. "Honestly, you two!" Mrs. Weasley's unmistakeable shriek pierced his eardrums, and he spun around on the spot to see the entire Weasley family following him down his path to the Wizarding Bank. For a second, his stomach tightened and he felt a tightening in his chest as he beheld the bright red hair and abundance of freckles, before he turned away and began walking faster.

Thankfully, the Weasleys weren't done by the time he'd made his withdrawal and left the bank. The goblins at Gringotts hadn't made any comment on his sudden reappearance in the Wizarding World, giving Harry the distinct impression that they couldn't care less about Wizarding affairs. Harry kept his head down as he went about his purchases swiftly, noticing more and more familiar faces. Dean Thomas was looking interestedly at a book on Wizarding Art at Flourishes and Blotts, the Patil twins and Lavender Brown were shopping at Madam Malkin's when he walked past, Terry Boot was buying supplies at the apothecary, while –

If seeing the Weasley's had cast a shadow on his day, this was twice as bad. Cedric Diggory was walking down Diagon Alley, his parents flanking him on either side. The Hufflepuff had definitely seen better days; his face was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes, his hair was in a mess that would've made Harry proud.

Harry felt his temper rise as he beheld the coward; he was still angry because of Cedric's desertion at the graveyard. The Hufflepuff had left a boy three years his junior to fend for himself against Voldemort, and Harry wished he could pull his wand out and give the boy a piece of both his mind and his magic.

He was also simultaneously reminded of all the letters Cedric had sent him, which had been left unopened and chucked away. With a greater jolt, he remembered the letters _other_ students had sent him, all of which he hadn't replied to.

_Great, _Harry thought sarcastically. He'd probably managed to alienate whatever paltry support he'd gathered amongst his peers. _Just fantastic. It just isn't my day, is it?_

And indeed it wasn't. Not ten minutes after he'd bypassed Cedric and stopped at Florean Fortescue's for an ice-cream, did he realize that he was being followed. He hadn't chanced a glance yet, but whoever was doing so wasn't being very discreet about it.

Harry sped up almost unconsciously, aware of the bags in his hand that would impede him if he reached for his wand. The only upside was that it wouldn't show up in his record if he did cast magic, because the Alley was so saturated with it.

He turned into a dead end, and cursed when he heard the heavy, unobtrusive footsteps follow him inside. "Harry, wait -" he froze, before turning around sharply.

"What do you want?" he asked harshly, his voice deeper than normal thanks to Blade's magic. "Who are you?"

"Drop the act, Harry. I know it's you," Ron said, "I'm your bes -"

Ron stopped short, the tips of his ears turning red. Ignoring his thumping heart, Harry pressed on this advantage. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled, hoping that he sounded threatening. "Leave, now."

"Yeah, right," Ron couldn't help but scoff, "nobody else slouches the way you do and still manages to look so proud while doing it."

Harry straightened his shoulders without thinking about it, and then winced. He'd just given the game away, and judging from Ron's triumphant grin, the redhead knew it.

"What do you want, Ron?" he asked icily, feeling satisfied as his tone wiped the smile off the redhead's face.

"Harry, I know you're angry at me -"

"Understatement," Harry cut in, making Ron stutter.

"Yeah, er, I guess, but there's more to it than you think," he said, managing to catch Harry's attention. "I think – I think -"

Ron's face looked pained, almost like he knew that he was about to blurt out something stupid, and Harry couldn't push down the hollow feeling in his chest at the expression; it was something he'd seen on Ron's face many times.

"I think I was cursed to stay away from you," Ron finished hastily, and then twitched involuntarily when he realized how badly he'd delivered his case.

Silence stretched between them for a long eternity. "You think," Harry said slowly, making sure to emphasize on the word and show Ron just what he thought about the redhead performing the action, "you were cursed to stay away from me?"

Ron must have realized that he was treading dangerous waters, because he began amending himself sharply. "No – Yes! I mean – I think there was some sort of compulsion on me – those charms really do exist, you know -"

"Ron," Harry said coldly, "Shut up." Ron thankfully complied, his mouth opening and closing silently for a few seconds at Harry's uncharacteristic rudeness, before he snapped it shut.

"Good," Harry continued. "Now calm down and tell me what you want to say. And," he added, "you better make it good, because I'm very, _very_ angry at you."

Ron gulped, and began again, slowly this time. "Harry," he said nervously, "this Summer, I realized that I was under a spell of some kind. I was eating lunch out in the orchard one day when I realized that I'd eaten six corned beef sandwiches."

And outsider might think that Ron had gone crazy for saying such a thing; and taken Harry with him for reacting with a raised eyebrow, but Harry had been friends with Ron long enough to known that Ron hated corned beef with a passion. It was probably the _only_ food that he didn't like, much to the amusement of their fellow Gryffindors.

"Yeah, I know, right?" Ron said, relieved that he'd managed to get Harry's interest. "For a second, I thought that I'd acquired a taste for it, before I thought that I still hated it. And that was the first time when I realized something was off. I felt it again when I found myself reading one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books, I _loathe _that git and his stuff. And then I started to suspect that something was off, y'know, and that I was under a spell of some sort. I know it sounds like I was fretting over something really small, but there was this _niggling feeling_ at the back of my head that just wouldn't leave me alone no matter what. It started the moment I realized I was eating those sandwiches, Harry, and it wouldn't let go."

"The point, Ron," Harry stated firmly, even though his voice was nowhere near as cold as it was before.

"Anyway, I began to suspect that somebody had messed with my mind, because whenever I'd think about this stuff, I'd get raging headaches, and those are classic symptoms – and it only got worse for a few days, before I managed to pull out of it -"

"Pull out of it?" Harry asked curiously, "just like that?"

"Er, not really," Ron shifted uncomfortably, "I had the mother of all headaches and one of my ears began bleeding to, but I managed to power through this sort of fog in my mind before I finally came to my senses. And then I realized that," Ron paused here, like he was unable to continue. Harry raised an eyebrow, obviously prompting him to do so anyway.

Ron took a few deep breaths, before his blue eyes met Harry's. "I failed as your friend last year, Harry," he said grimly, "I ditched you when there was some nutter out to kill you."

"But if what you told me is true, it wasn't you fault," Harry said, almost disbelieving at how great a turn his day had taken. Hope ballooned in his chest but he squashed it down mercilessly, not allowing him to have his optimism crushed prematurely.

"It _is_ true, Harry," Ron said, his blue eyes pleading. "This isn't some excuse," Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron beat him to it.

"I won't lie, Harry, I've always been a bit jealous of you," Ron's confession caught him off guard, and his friend saw it and forged onwards. "But I'd gotten over it, Harry, I swear! Please, believe me, I haven't got much time, Mum's probably looking for me -"

"But how can I trust you again?!" Harry nearly shouted, his voice rising sharply. He just couldn't trust Ron again like that, not when he'd been all alone last year and had a rude lesson about trust this very summer.

"I stood in front of the man I thought was a mass murdered to protect you, mate," Ron said, his ears now matching his hair. Harry's thoughts came to a screeching halt, and processed what Ron had just said.

The years of their friendship flashed through his mind, right from their first meeting on the Hogwart's Express, to how Ron had shielded him from Sirius with his broken leg; and at that instant, he knew his reply was going to shape his future for years to come.

The silence between them seemed to stretch for an eternity. Ron didn't speak, but his eyes spoke volumes.

"We need to talk," Harry finally said. "I've missed you, mate."

Ron's eyes shone with clear relief as he gave a yell of joy, before he strode forward and seized Harry in a bear hug. For once in his life, Harry reciprocated and hugged his best friend back just as tightly, finally letting the balloon in his chest expand and fill him with warmth.

Voldemort couldn't hold a candle against the happiness he was feeling now. As the two of them broke apart and Ron asked him where he'd been and told him how the entire Wizarding World was in an uproar over his disappearance.

Harry couln't care less. He felt like he could take the world on now that he had his best friend by his side.

Somewhere far away from the two reuniting friends, Hermione Granger frowned as she realized that she'd buttered only one side of her toast instead of two as she was wont to do. The minor headache she'd been experiencing over the summer, which even a visit to the optometrist couldn't solve, seemed to return with a vengeance.

She frowned. Something didn't add up.

**XoX**

**Author's note: That's all for now. While Ron and Hermione's exit and then return may seem pointless, I assure you that their situations are pivotal to the plot.**

**Do remember that I staunchly maintain a 'No Comment' policy before the Manipulative!Dumbledore comments start flying. To be fair, I quite like the old man, though. And the nickname 'Dumbles' got old really fast.**

**That said, Harry's duelling style was left out here on purpose, and shall be revealed in later chapters.**

**Till then, review! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story so far.**

**Regards,  
Warlord.**


	11. Summer's End

**Disclaimer: Happy Birthday to J. K. Rowling, who made my childhood so fantastic with her series- none of which I own. And Happy Birthday to the Boy-Who-Lived himself, who gets a little birthday present from me in this chapter! Read on!**

**Chapter 11: Summer's End**

"Ready, Potter?" Blade asked, his wand outstretched and his stance firm.

"Yes," Harry replied, mirroring his teacher's form and not taking his eyes off the old man.

"Callida?" the old man turned his head towards the succubus standing next to Harry.

Callida grinned wolfishly, her face taking on an uncomfortably predatory expression. "Ready to go," she agreed, flexing her arms. Harry noticed that she was wearing gloves of some sort, which Blade had gotten for her a couple of days back. He was yet to know what their purpose was.

"Good," Blade said, "now, since this is our last training session together for the summer, I'm lifting the restriction on spells and cheap tricks of any kinds. Anything goes as long as it isn't debilitating. Am I clear?" His words made it quite clear that there would be repercussions if his orders weren't followed.

"Can we just get on with it?" Calli whined, eager to start. Harry still didn't know when he'd started thinking of her as Calli again, and told himself that the shorter version of her name was just easier on the tongue. Putting that debate away for another time, he circled Blade slightly, his wand raised and ready to attack. Calli mirrored his movements on the other side, the two of them trying to flank the old man.

"If you say so," said Blade with a smirk. And then he struck without warning.

Faster than the eye could see, a succession of four spells whizzed out of Blade's wand, before they split up and headed towards the two fighters. Calli rolled away from the danger, while Harry levitated a twig off the ground, transfigured it into stone and expanded it to form a wall in front of him.

He did it in all within moments, and still managed to get another _Protego _shield up in front of him just in case. If there was one thing Blade had taught him over the summer, it was to be ingenious in his use of spells, and to make creative use of what he knew without wearing himself out. Harry had gone over the rudimentary transformations and charms of his first couple of years so well, that he could almost perform them without a second thought.

The slab exploded in a magnificent shower of dust and pebbles, and he was glad that he hadn't been hit with that spell. However, before his teacher could press onwards, Harry waved his wand again, sending the debris barrelling at his teacher.

Blade vanished them with a lazy flick of his wand, not even turning around to give them his full attention. Harry grit his teeth; despite his practice, higher branches of transfiguration like Conjuration and Vanishing were still not his forte. And they wouldn't be till the end of the year at the very least.

_Well, I have to work with what I got,_ Harry thought, watching Calli try to engage Blade in a fight; but the old man Apparated away – another advantage he held over their team.

Harry sent off three Stunners just to keep the fight going, before he looked around for something he could use.

_Use your environment._ One of his first lessons. While it wasn't very useful in a standard duelling arena, Harry wasn't being taught classical duelling in the first place.

He spotted a clump of boulders between him and his master, and waved his wand at them. Hissing at the snakes that formed, he tried to flank Blade while Calli snuck up on him from behind.

The old man, though, was ruthless in battle. A ring of flame from his wand burnt the snakes to a crisp, while Calli's attack was dodged and she was sent flying back with a Banisher in a stomach.

_Crack!_ Next thing he knew, Blade was behind him, and it was only through his enhanced reflexes that he was able to dodge the first Stunner which went whistling past his year.

"Harry, duck!" He followed the order without thinking. The next thing he knew, he could hear a curious whistling and clinking sound as something obviously flew through the air above him, so close that he could feel a gust of wind on the crown of his head.

Blade swore, and popped away again. He felt the chain being pulled back, and looked back to see Calli with a fearsome grin on her face. Extending from her gloves were long metallic chains of some sort, with a wickedly sharp point attached to one end. On closer inspection, he discovered that there were tiny curved blades along the length of the chain as well, which ended in a pair of grips in her hand which were attached to the gloves.

"Like them, do you?" Calli asked, her eyes bright with the taste of battle.

Their conversation was interrupted by a volley of exploding curses, making both of them roll away in different directions. Harry retaliated with a chain of two Bone Breakers and a _Tarantellegra,_ before he asked, "What is it?"

"A chain blade," Calli explained with the same fierce grin on her face, "also known as a daggertail, and my weapon of choice. Now move out of my way, Potter!"

Before he could protest, she had moved forward, spinning and twirling the chains around her like a deranged circus performer. Harry had to admit that she cut an awe-inspiring figure, twisting and flipping fluidly like she was one with her weapon, and even managing to send Blade on the back foot for a couple of seconds.

Harry grinned, and then tightened his grip on his wand. A moment of concentration, and then, _'Telum Exardesco!'_

This was going to be a duel to remember.

**XoX**

"I know you're awake."

Harry groaned and gave up his pretence, attempting to sit up in bed. His entire body hurt, and his left arm where Blade had hit him with a Skin-curling curse felt like it was on fire. He extended his hands and cast about for his glasses, before somebody handing them to him.

Putting them on, Calli came into focus. There was a thin cut on her right cheek and her hair looked rather singed near the forehead, but she had escaped Blade's punishment unscathed on the whole. Rather than looking pleased about it, though, the Succubus looked rather depressed.

"Here, take this," she said, shoving a vial into his hand. He looked down and saw that it was filled with an unpleasant yellow solution. "I know it isn't much to look at, but Blade left it for you. Said it'd help with the pain."

"Wait, Blade's gone?" he asked, startled. In a way, it did make sense, though. The man had dropped into Harry's life without warning, and came and went as he pleased. He'd never given any indication that he'd stay to bid Harry farewell, and frankly, Harry couldn't imagining the man saying his goodbyes, either.

"Yes, but he said he'll be back soon," Calli said, smoothing the sheets near his feet awkwardly. "He's going to help me with my quest once you're in Hogwarts," she added.

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. Over the days, he had come to accept that his bond with Callida _was_ rather useful, despite the manner in which he'd attained it. Callida had upheld her end of the bargain by offering him more power, but he hadn't reciprocated and helped her out.

"Er, that's good," he said, unable to think of what else to say, "I'll look up some stuff at the Hogwarts Library, when I have the time."

She gave him a wan smile. "That's good." He couldn't shake off the feeling of _something_ in the air, though, something inexplicable – something he thought he didn't want to face so early in the morning.

Silence descended between the two of them, and Harry couldn't think of what to say to break it.

"Er, nice duel las- "

"Do you have to go?" she cut off his attempt to carry on their stilted conversation, taking him by surprise. To add to it, she blushed once she realized what she'd said, as if she hadn't planned to verbalize her thoughts.

"Er, I mean –"

"Oh no, it's nothing," she said, her cheeks red. "I'm just going to miss you, that's all," she told the foot of his bed.

Harry didn't know how to reply to that. Sure, he'd become close to Callida over the past weeks – there was no other choice considering that she'd been his only company for a while. However, he still wasn't sure what to feel about her – and he wasn't sure that he wanted to find out.

"I – I'll miss you too, I guess," he said, fervently hoping that she wasn't about to cry.

Her eyes met his, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes were completely dry, but at the same time, they seemed to be piercing his own gaze.

"You don't mean that," she said sharply. He recognized the danger signs immediately, and headed off their current line of talk. He had no desire to encounter another one of her mercurial mood swings, especially not so soon after last week's incident with the last piece of treacle tart.

He forced down a shudder at that, and reached out to take her hand. It was cooler than his, and for some reason, he felt sweat break out in his palms. He wasn't comfortable with this at all –

"You're my friend, Calli," he said, trying to sound as sincere as he could, "we got off to a rough start," she gave a snort at that, "but things sort of, er, calmed down after that –"

She couldn't hide a giggle. "You're horrible at this," she told him, and he grinned when he realized that the danger was past.

"Tell me something, though," she said, becoming serious. "Do you trust me, now?"

Harry went completely still. Callida's grip on his hand was suddenly painfully tight, and he couldn't pull his hand out if he tried.

He debated what to answer, realizing in horror that precious seconds were passing by the longer he remained quiet.

"I see," Calli said finally, her voice thick. "I guess I deserve that." Harry felt a sinking feeling somewhere in his chest, as she let go of his hand and backed away, tilting her head forward so that her hair masked most of her face. "I think this is goodbye, then," she said, and before he could protest, she was walking out of the room.

_I'm never going to understand girls, _Harry thought sadly, positive that she was probably crying now. _Way to go, Potter._

He sighed and made his way into the shower, intent on taking a long, hot bath. When he came out, he was surprised to see his clothes laid out for him.

He spotted a piece of paper and pulled it out, turning it over to read the message. The handwriting was childish and disjointed, like the person writing it was new to it.

_I know I don't deserve your trust,_ it said, _but I promise that I'll try my best to earn it._ The message was short and signed beneath by her, but it sent warmth shooting through him. He was unable to keep the smile off his face as he dressed and went down for breakfast, attacking his food voraciously while Dobby attended to a bit of last minute packing.

Finally, when the packing had been done and his trunk was waiting for him in the living room, Harry climbed the stairs to Calli's room. The Succubi hadn't left it all morning, but he was determined to see her one last time before he went.

He knocked on the door and then pushed it open, but didn't walk in. Leaning against the doorframe, he grinned at Calli, who squeaked in surprise when he saw him standing there.

"Harry!" she said, "I thought you'd lef –"

He cut her off this time. "You don't deserve my trust," he began, making her face fall, "but then, over the past couple of weeks, you haven't done anything not to earn it back, either," he said. He'd given Ron a chance, and perhaps having his best friend back had put him in a better mood, because he was willing to give her another.

Maybe Dumbledore was on to something after all.

_Or maybe you're still the lonely boy from the cupboard who just wants friends,_ a tiny voice in his head piped up. He ignored it.

Calli's eyes were wide and hopeful. "So, that means..."

"I can learn to trust you again," he agreed, proud of himself for that statement. It was the perfect mixture of sly and optimistic, promising nothing and everything at the same time.

Calli seemed to have realized it as well, and a strange expression flitted over her face. "I've taught you well," she said quietly, making him nervous with her inscrutable countenance.

And then she smiled, and Harry was suddenly struck by just how beautiful she was. If Fleur's aura was distracting, this was downright alluring.

Harry immediately began to set his subconscious mind to different tasks, while he remained focused on her. It was just as difficult as it sounded, and it was made even more difficult by the fact that Calli _knew_ she was pouring her aura out and not stopping.

Thinking of the twelve uses of Dragon's Blood while marshalling his thoughts to speak, Harry knew that he didn't have much time before a headache set in. "You promised not to do that...until I was ready!" he gasped, his words broken and clumsy. He still hadn't mastered the art of doing two things together.

"Oh, but I think my student deserves a reward," she purred, sending shivers down his spine. "He did put my lessons to such good use, didn't he?"

"Callida – " Harry managed to choke out, but her wink was all the warning he got before she jumped him.

**XoX**

Harry knew that what he had just undergone constituted assault in several countries, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. Even after bumping into a couple of Muggles and an extremely irate witch who'd mysteriously disappeared when she'd caught a glimpse of his face, he still couldn't lose the dreamy expression he was currently displaying.

However, he wasn't so distracted that he'd miss the sudden hush that fell over Platfrom Nine and Three-Quarters when he walked in. People stopped their conversations to get a good look at him, before resuming their obviously fake talks while keeping an eye on him.

What was going on? He knew he'd received only a couple of editions of the Daily Prophet over the past few days, but he was missing out on something major here.

"Harry!" the next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a rib-cracking hug. Gasping for air when he was finally let go, he found himself looking into the furious brown eyes of Molly Weasley.

"Young man –" she began, her eyes flashing, but she was cut off when her husband laid a hand on her arm.

"Molly, darling," Arthur said quietly, acutely aware that everybody was watching them covertly, "remember the plan? Harry's never supposed to have gone missing –"

So Dumbledore had retracted his missing status, had he? Harry knew he had to seek Ron out and pump him for information the moment they found a compartment. At the moment, though, he was trying to avoid Mr. Weasley's eyes, who looked more disappointed than he'd ever seen him.

"Harry Potter," he heard, and turned around before blinking rapidly. Standing in front of him was a witch with luminescent pink hair and dark eyes, and a kind, heart-shaped face, "do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me over the summer? Nymphadora Tonks, by the way," she said, shaking his hand, "but it's Tonks you, and nothing else."

Harry nodded. "Er, sorry for the trouble?" he ventured.

"It's fine," she said with a grin, "it was worth it to see Mad-Eye getting all riled up when his tracking skills failed to find you."

"Nymphadora!" Shocked, Harry turned around to find the grizzled Auror approaching from behind the Weasleys.

"Professor Moody? What are you doing here?" _What's going on?_

"Get on the train, Harry," Arthur said quietly, "find Ron or the twins and they'll tell you about it. And please write to us and tell us how you've been." Another flash of guilt attacked Harry – the Weasleys must have been worried sick about him. "And, er – do you want a message passed on to your, er, Godfather?"

Harry perked up. Mr. Weasley was in contact with Sirius?

"Er, yes, there is, actually," he said, thinking fast, "could you please tell him that he's a gigantic git for not replying to any of my _six_ letters, and to tell him to keep his distance while he thinks about how he's failed so _miserably_ in his duties?"

Mr. Weasley looked taken aback by his sudden vehemence, but Harry's anger towards Sirius had been festering for quite a while. The man, like Dumbledore, seemed to have taken to ignoring Harry since the start of his summer, and he felt quite justified in his anger.

"Er, I suppose I'll pass on the message," Arthur said uncomfortably. Mrs. Weasley, for some reason, looked strangely triumphant. "But you best get on the train now," Arthur told him quickly before she could speak, "Remember to write!"

"I will," Harry said, wondering what he was to say to the man. He had his replies for Dumbledore chalked out, but he hadn't counted on the Weasleys at all. "Goodbye," he said uncertainly.

"Have a good term, Harry," Molly said with a smile, even though it was noticeably smaller than the one she usually reserved for him. "I'll be waiting for Hedwig."

The train gave a whistle and he hurried onto it, helped by Tonks who levitated his trunk in. Flashing her a grateful smile, he followed protocol and shut the door, before hefting his trunk and making his way in; happy to have escaped from the dreaded reunion mostly unscathed.

He was almost immediately rewarded by the sight of Ron in the compartment at the end, and he opened the door and walked in with a smile. It was only after he'd entered that he noticed Hermione sitting in one corner and looking at him anxiously.

Harry said nothing, turning silently to Ron for an explanation.

"Hear her out," Ron said simply, "you'll find that the two of us have a lot in common."

Shocked, Harry turned to Hermione. His talk with Ron had been on his mind a lot, but he still hadn't been able to figure the culprit out. "You too?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded her head, her lower lip trembling in a way Harry found dangerously familiar. He sighed, and sat down and began trying to get her to calm down and say her piece.

_I just can't get enough of the weepy women today,_ he thought with a frown.

It was going to be a long train ride.

**XoX**

**Author's note: Shorter than my usual fare, but I had to upload a chapter today! **

**Don't forget to review! Unsuprisingly, my read to review ratio has gone down drastically – it was to be expected with my update schedule and pitfalls. Ah, well, Ces't la vie. I'll take what I can get.**

**But forget that. 300 favourites and nearly 450 follows! THANK YOU!**


	12. The Legend and the Patronus

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter, and make no profits from writing this Fanfiction.**

**Chapter 12: The Legend and the Patronus**

"...and that's when I realized that there was something strange going on," Hermione finished. "I'm so _sorry, _Harry!" she burst out again after a moment's silence, but Harry cut her off by raising his hand.

"I believe you, Hermione," he said, and Hermione gave him a watery smile in return. "But the question remains...why would somebody do this and what do they mean to gain from this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ron asked, making the two of them turn towards him in surprise. Normally, it was Hermione who said that line, not Ron.

Ron, it seemed, was aware of this as well; which is why his ears turned slightly red as he said, "They're aiming for you, Harry. It's the only answer that makes sense."

"But that means it could be You-Know-Who who's causing these events to happen!" Hermione burst out, she'd evidently been stewing over this matter for ages.

"I don't think it's Voldemort," Harry began slowly, ignoring the way the two of them flinched, "Somehow...somehow, this doesn't seem like something he'd do."

"Is it prudent to base a conclusion of something like this over a hunch?" Hermione asked nervously, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Harry's the expert here," Ron said, and Harry felt a rush of companionship towards his friend, "if anyone knows how You-Know-Who's mind works, it's him."

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, looking somewhat mollified, "but don't you think we should –"

"Take it to a teacher?" Harry asked. "Hermione, when has that ever helped us?"

Hermione deflated visibly, conceding Harry his point.

No one spoke for a few moments as the scenery hurtled past them, before Ron snorted suddenly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously, looking at him.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly, but he corrected himself at the look on Hermione's face. "It – well, it just seems typical that you would realize something was wrong when you suddenly started dog-earing books –"

Harry couldn't help but grin at that, but Hermione defended herself firmly, "Of course! It's a barbaric practice! And besides, Ronald, it's not like you were any better! Honestly, it was food –"

Harry looked at the two of them fondly; their arguing, to his surprise, was something that he'd come to miss.

_It's a shame it won't last long,_ he thought, before finally giving voice to something that had been plaguing him ever since he'd confirmed that both his friends had been cursed.

"Guys," he began. "Guys!" he repeated louder, when they showed no inclination of stopping. Thankfully, raising his voice seemed to do the trick. "I – I just wanted to say –"

The words suddenly seemed to stick in his throat, not wanting to leave his mouth even though it would be the right thing to do.

"What is it?" Ron repeated Hermione's question, looking at him.

"Isn't it obvious?" It was Hermione's turn to look smug, "look at his expression. He's about to do something noble."

"Wait, I'm not –" Harry said, but Ron beat him to it.

"You're right," Ron told Hermione, a fake look of awe on his face. "That pained, constipated expression, I never realized it –"

He couldn't help but feel a little annoyed in the way his two best friends burst out laughing at him.

"Hey!" he protested, "I'm trying to do the right thing here!" he said angrily.

"Of course you are, Harry," Hermione said, as if she was talking to a small child. "Let's hear it, then."

Ignoring the desire to sulk at being made fun of, Harry marshalled his thoughts, before trying again. "It's just, with all these things going on, and Voldemort returning –" he paused politely for Ron and Hermione's twitch at the name, "I'll understand if you don't want to be friends with me any longer – it's too dangerous –"

His heart felt strangely light and heavy at the same time, but it seemed to drop out of his chest when Ron got up from his seat.

"He's right," the redhead said matter-of-factly, and Harry felt like he'd just swallowed a whole block of ice, "I don't think I can be friends with somebody so thick –"

The tension in the air vanished, and Harry was back to being annoyed.

"It's not something to be joking about," he said, and Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"And we're not joking when we say we won't leave your side either, Harry," Hermione said firmly.

"But you don't understand!" Harry protested. Couldn't they see, how dangerous it was, how imperative it was that they didn't get close to him?

"We do, mate," Ron said, before his face took on an uncharacteristically serious expression, "if anything, it's me the two of you should be staying away from –"

This turn of events was so unexpected that Harry momentarily lost his train of thought. "What?" he blurted out, before he could help himself. Hermione's expression was just as confused as him.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I know a bit about curses like these," he explained, "Bill comes across them all the time during his job. He always says that it's the one with the weaker minds who're easier to enchant –"

Ron paused for a second, before he continued. "And curses like these, we probably didn't fight it because it was from someone we know. I mean, I could have been cursed first by someone, and then forced to curse Hermione – possibly even you, Harry –"

"I'm clean, I've checked," Harry answered quickly, and indeed, he'd forced Blade to search for any spells on him after his conversation with Ron in Diagon Alley.

Ron nodded, but continued. It was obvious that he'd been agonising over this as much as Hermione and her theory over Voldemort. "Hermione's the smartest witch of the year, and you're well...you're you," Harry raised his eyebrows, not knowing how to reply to that, "but I'm the weak link," Ron finished, an almost painful expression on his face as he blurted the last bit out. "I'll understand if you don't want me around."

"Don't be thick!" Hermione snapped, her eyes watery again. "We're in this together, the three of us, and we're not breaking our friendship over something so minor; not when we've faced so much worse together!"

"_Minor?"_ Ron asked incredulously, "Hermione, _you _were the one who thought You-Know-Who could be a part of this –"

"Well, then, I changed my mind, didn't I!" Hermione retorted. "Save it, the two of you. It'll take more than spells or a bit of guilt to keep the three of us from being together!"

There was silence in the compartment for a few moments, before Harry smiled. Looking around, he saw identical expressions on Ron and Hermione's faces.

Their friendship had been tested, and broken, and then reformed. And Harry could only hope that it had been forged anew stronger than ever.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" the usual question made Harry look outside the compartment...and frown.

"No, thanks," he said, and Ron and Hermione echoed his words. Harry turned around to his friends once the Lady had left.

"Why is it that even the lady who pushes the sweet trolley on the Hogwarts Express is looking at me strangely," he asked his friends, both of whom suddenly looked decidedly shifty.

"It's the Prophet," Hermione said, "they haven't really been kind to you or Cedric after the Tournament," she said.

"Or Dumbledore," Ron added, "the Ministry's firmly denying that Voldemort's returned, and they're making the three of you out to be loonies, or somesuch."

"What?!" Harry exploded, making the two of them flinch inadvertently. "But it's the truth! How can they do something like this?"

"We know it's the truth, Harry," Hermione said softly, "but there's nothing we can do about it."

"Yeah," Ron said, "besides, most people don't really believe the Prophet, they know it's trash. Mum cancelled her subscription the first time you made headlines –"

"I made headlines?" he asked, and Ron grimaced.

"Jointly with Dumbledore and Diggory," he said, "but it's reduced to a passing comment here and there –"

"And a sudden post that you were missing," Hermione said sharply, "before it was rescinded by the paper. What was that all about? You weren't at the Burrow, either! The Order was going crazy –"

"The Order?" Harry asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "We asked first."

And so Harry told them about his summer, starting from his botched escape to his rescue of Callida and the ensuing misadventures. He left out the part about the bond they shared, though, making it sound like Calli had just taught him over the summer, along with Blade.

He wasn't sure he would ever reveal that particular secret to anyone. Despite the manner he'd gained the bond, it was still something intensely personal.

"Only you, Harry," Hermione was shaking her head by the time he was done, "this could happen only to you."

Ron, meanwhile, seemed more interested in Calli. "A real Succubus?" he asked, a nearly dreamy expression on his face, "they were supposed to be even more beautiful than Veela, and twice as charming –"

"She's also eight hundred years old," Harry inexplicably said, unaware that his face was mirroring Hermione's annoyed expression for a second.

"Ooh, but it seems like you learned a lot over the Summer!" Hermione turned on him instead, but Harry was ready.

"Your turn," he said, "what is this Order?"

And so it became Ron and Hermione's turn to tell him about the resurrected Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore's efforts to counter Voldemort. Apparently, Dumbledore had also ordered a blanket ban on any communication with Harry, even after he'd gone missing.

This did not endear the Headmaster to Harry, but it did have the effect of making him feel slightly guilty about how angry he'd been at Sirius. His message to Arthur suddenly seemed a lot meaner now.

_Well, he did deserve it,_ a small corner of his mind argued. _He's a self-proclaimed legendary prankster, and he can't pull a fast one on Dumbledore?_

Harry conceded to himself that it was not very easy to pull a fast one over Dumbledore, before he said, "Well, at least someone's doing something about Voldemort," he said.

Ron and Hermione looked somewhat surprised.

"What?" Harry asked, only just stopping himself for snapping.

"Well," Hermione said, "we thought you'd want to join the Order immediately. I mean, the two of us tried –"

"But there's an age-limit," Ron said, pulling a face. "You can't join if you're younger than seventeen –"

Harry, for his part, opened his mouth to tell them just what he thought of Dumbledore and how unwilling the man was to help him against Voldemort, when the compartment door opened.

It was Cedric Diggory, and his face did nothing for Harry's frustration. "Just wanted to tell the two of you, meeting's about to start –"

His gaze fell on Harry sitting on the opposite seat, and the Hufflepuff shut up quickly. Harry's gaze fell on the shiny Head Boy badge on his chest, while Cedric's mouth open and closed silently for a few seconds, before he snapped it shut.

"Meeting?" Harry turned to Ron and Hermione.

"Er, yeah," Ron said, "we, er – that is to say –"

"They're the Gryffindor prefects," Cedric came to their rescue, but he was doing everything but meeting Harry's eyes.

_Prefect?_ Harry's mouth fell open, and he couldn't help but feel a bit slighted. Even though the matter had slipped his mind completely over the Summer, he couldn't deny that he had somewhat expected that he would get the badge.

"Er, Congratulations!" he blurted out to Ron and Hermione, who were looking at him anxiously. "That's great!" he forced himself to add with a smile. Hermione's face cleared, but Ron's ears were still red.

"Thought you'd be the one to get it," Ron said gruffly, also avoiding his eyes. "Dunno why they chose me of all –"

"Ron," Harry cut in firmly, with more conviction than he felt. "You deserved it. Go to your meeting, I'll wait for you to return."

"Actually, we have patrols," Hermione said uncertainly, her eyes flickering towards Ron.

"Oh," Harry said, caught off guard. "Oh," he repeated, before pulling himself together. "That's fine," he said, wishing his voice didn't sound so fake, "I guess I'll see you at dinner, then."

It was like a punch to the stomach; he'd been looking forward to catching up with the two of them again.

"Come along then," Cedric told them, and they followed him out of the compartment, still throwing him hestitant looks – Harry returned them with a bright and completely fake smile of his own.

He slumped into his seats when they'd left, feeling very grouchy. He perked up seconds later when he heard the door open, maybe they'd decided to return –

It was Cedric. The boy looked like he'd rather be anywhere, but there was a resolute look on his face at the same time. "Harry," he began, either unable to read or ignoring Harry's cold expression, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry –"

"For deserting me at the graveyard and leaving me to fight Voldemort alone?" he asked sharply. Cedric flinched, both at his words and Voldemort's name. Harry's estimation of him went even lower.

"Y – yes," Cedric stuttered for a moment, before he visibly steeled himself. "Look, Harry, I'm –"

"Save it, Diggory," Harry said, shutting him up. "I don't give a damn about what you have to say."

"You don't understand!" Cedric protested, "I was scared, alright! I thought I was about to die!"

"So did I," Harry replied, his voice as cool and calm as ever. "That doesn't mean I ran away –"

"But you're the Boy-Who-Lived!" Cedric retorted. It was the worst thing he could have said.

Harry's wand was out in a second, and there was a muscle locked in his jaw. "Leave. Now."

"Harry –"

"_Leave._"

Diggory looked miserable, but left anyway. Harry slumped again, anger and frustration now dominating his emotions.

The sound of the compartment door opening again reached his ears, and he sat up angrily. "What is it this time?!" he said, his voice much louder than normal.

And then Harry blinked when he saw the girl who'd walked into the compartment. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, and protuberant grey eyes, which looked strangely unfocused. Unless he was mistaken, she was wearing a Butterbeer cap necklace, and her wand was stuck behind her left ear; she seemed to give off an aura of distinct dottiness.

The girl seemed completely unfazed by his rude behaviour. "Is this compartment taken?" she asked, before she seemed to realize who he was. "You're Harry Potter," she said, as if she was commenting on the weather.

Unlike other times, Harry could not bring himself to be offended by her statement. Maybe it was because her low, melodic voice seemed very faraway, or because he wasn't quite sure about her sanity.

"Er," he said rather eloquently.

"Who's in there, Luna? It's not another Snake, is it – oh, Harry!" he was saved by the sight of familiar red hair and the sight of Ginny Weasley's face.

"Hey, Ginny," he said mildly, still caught off guard by the strange girl's appearance.

Ginny walked in, dragging the blonde girl along with her. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked, while she was already plopping herself down on the seat opposite to him.

"Er, no," he said, completely blindsided by this turn of events. Ginny hadn't been much of a fixture in his life for the past couple of years, and the last he remembered, she couldn't be in the same room as him without knocking something over.

Ginny, it seemed, was thinking along the same lines, because her cheeks turned red and she was suddenly examining the corner of the window next to her very intently.

"You're Harry Potter," Harry jumped, and was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that the strange girl was staring intently at him, not even blinking once. It was a disconcerting effect.

"Er, yes," he said, still unsure about how to deal with her. Ginny couldn't hide a giggle, and he wondered absently about the change in her again.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she said.

"Hi, Luna," Harry replied awkwardly. For some reason, this pleased Luna immensely. She beamed at him, and the change was startling – she suddenly looked quite pretty.

"That's very nice of you," she said, "most people call me Loony, even though it's not my name."

Harry understood exactly how that name had come about, and to his surprise, he found himself sympathizing with her. He knew exactly how it felt like to be singled out for being different in school.

"Not if I can help it," Ginny piped up, "they'll know exactly what your name is once they've met the business end of my wand." She looked rather fierce as she held the stick of wood in question aloft, and Harry was struck again by the changes in her.

"But would you curse Harry if he did it?" Luna asked interestedly, "You did have a rather flagrant crush on him when you were younger."

Harry almost choked on his spit at her words, while Ginny went a shade of red previously thought impossible to achieve.

"I – I don't – I mean, not that way –" she sputtered, waving her hands about wildly.

Ginny's crush on him had always been the unspoken pink elephanGit in the room; he'd always been kind enough not to make her uncomfortable by acknowledging it. Luna, on the other hand, didn't seem like the kind of person to pull any punches when it came to being honest.

Ginny finally dissolved into an embarrassed silence, refusing to meet his eyes. Harry did the same, while Luna seemed to be content in simply observing the two of them with her large, unsettling eyes.

Finally, when Harry was finally attempting to make some weak conversation, it happened.

Without warning, Harry's scar flashed in pain – something that hadn't happened for quite some time. For a second, blank darkness flashed before his eyes; and then he was back in his compartment again.

"Harry, what -?" Ginny was asking, but his scar was on fire. Another burst of pain, and suddenly he was standing on an outcropping of rock, his dark wand clutched in his hand.

_The sea was raging and twisting around them, massive waves curling up and then breaking against the rocks in a mad fury, drenching them with the spray. Like any decent wizard, he remained dry, unharmed by the water. His lip curled when he looked at Wormtail next to him. The pathetic rat was already wet._

_Hiding his disgust he turned to the large doors in front of him. The guards lay dead before it, fallen before his wand. He felt the old anticipation rise, that old excitement boiling in the pit of his stomach. He felt the magic build up inside of him, gearing up for his grand spell –_

"_Azkaban," he hissed, before he brought his wand down swiftly. For a second, nothing happened._

_Then the door before him exploded in a magnificent shower of rock and dust, shaking the entire tower to his foundations. He walked in unimpeded as alarms went off – he wasn't worried, having designed the Anti-Apparition wards around the island himself._

_Guards poured into the room, all of them meeting a swift death at his hands. His Death Eaters were slow to follow, walking in only after they'd cast their Patroni. He ignored their weakness – he was immune to the Dementors, and that was all that mattered. _

_And so he weaved a symphony of death and destruction all around him with his wand, revelling in the way he cut down tens of wizards who opposed him. He relished the despair in their faces as their efforts to call for help failed, and they realised that they were to face him alone._

_Most of them turned and fled, but he was unconcerned. He would flush them out and stamp their lives out like the cockroaches they were – there would be no escaping from Death today. _

_But his destination was different. Instead of following his Death Eaters upstairs to free his followers, he walked down, into the depths of the tower. Cold descended around him as he walked, but he flicked his wand and it was gone. _

_Finally, he came to it. The glowing matrix that bound the Dementors to this tower, and to the will of the Ministry of Magic. It was carved into the stone, a feat of runes and spellwork beyond most wizards – but he was Lord Voldemort, and it was nothing before his brilliance._

_It took ten minutes of careful whispering before he was confident that the spell had been broken. With a malicious smile, he began working his own magic into the stone. From now on, the Dementors would answer to him, and him alone._

_High, cold laughter rang through the depths of Azkaban –_

And he was shouting from the pain, yelling in desperation when the jet of water struck him. For a panicked second, he realized that he wasn't making any sound, before Luna waved her wand and muttered a _Finite_.

He coughed, his throat sore – even if he'd been charmed, his throat had still been working, and it was burning from his exertions.

"What happened, Harry?" Ginny's face came into view, and she looked terrified. "One moment you were in your seat, and then you were screaming and yelling. Luna Silenced you, but you didn't stop –"

Harry coughed again, and she fell silent. Harry's mind, on the other hand, was racing a mile a minute. Voldemort had just overtaken Azkaban and bent the Dementors to his will; it was a disastrous situation. He needed to tell someone fast, before things got out of hand.

_But who?_ He was on the Hogwarts Express, there was no way for him to contact anybody. Hedwig had chosen to fly to Hogwarts, and teacher's generally didn't ride the Hogwarts Express.

"Ginny," nevertheless, he felt it prudent to try, "did you see any teachers on board?"

She shook her head, clearly terrified and worried in equal measures. "Harry," she asked, "what was that? What happened?!"

Harry brushed her off, he'd never been that close to Ginny, and besides, he wasn't about to terrify her further.

"Was it Tom?" The quiet question caught him by surprise, making him turn around to face her. "You were clutching your scar," she explained quietly, "I just thought –"

"Yes," Harry replied, making her eyes widen in shock. The day was getting stranger and stranger; how could he have forgotten about Ginny's own experiences with Voldemort.

If he was expecting her to panic, though, he was mistaken. "What do we need to do?" she asked, her voice steely. Next to her, he realized that Luna was looking alert as well, her wand in her hand.

"We need to get a message to...Dumbledore," he decided, after a moment's pause. With no idea how to contact Blade, he was the obvious option, despite their obvious differences.

"You can use Pigwidgeon," she said, "He's back in my compartment, I'll go get him."

She was gone before he could edge a word in sideways, and he wondered if she was keeping busy on purpose to ignore the idea that Tom Riddle was at large again.

Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that he was lying down on the compartment floor, and Luna was bending over him with a look of mild concern on her face.

"I believe you, you know," she said, as Harry sat up and dusted himself off. At his inquisitive look, she added, "about Voldemort's return. I think you're telling the truth."

"I – thanks, Luna," Harry said, realizing that she spoke the Dark Lord's name without fear. This added her to the list of people the number of which he could count on one hand, even if he counted Ginny, who referred to Voldemort by his childhood name.

"That's quite alright," she said with a small smile as he retook his seat, "I think you'll be needing all the support you can get anyway. Most people think you're mad; that's why I silenced you, you know..."

She trailed off, once more displaying her ability to speak harsh truths without caring.

Harry, for his part, began composing the letter in his head as he waited for Ginny to return with Pig.

It took her five minutes, and another five before the hyperactive owl was winging his way to Hogwarts with his letter.

"Azkaban?" Ginny asked with a choked voice, and he realized that she'd read the letter over his shoulder. "He took down Azkaban?"

"He did," Harry agreed quietly, "all we can do now is wait and hope Dumbledore takes action."

"Takes action against who or what?" Ron asked, walking into the compartment; Hermione behind him.

"Hey, Ginny," Hermione greeted, before her eyes fell on Luna. She shot a glance at Harry, who merely shrugged his shoulders. "Hello...Luna, wasn't it?"

"That's me," Luna said, fixing her dreamy gaze on Ron, who shifted slightly. "Hello, Ronald. How are you?"

"I'm good, Luna," Ron replied, avoiding her gaze. "It's good to see you again."

"That's nice of you, Ronald –" Luna said, but Hermione interrupted her.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked. "You don't look so good," she added with a raised eyebrow.

"Er, maybe we should talk in private," Ron asked, staring rather obviously at Luna.

"Oh, you want me to leave?" Luna asked, raising her rather pale eyebrows. "That's all right, it's not like most people like me around anyway –"

Ron blanched; apparently, he was used to Luna's idiosyncrasies. Hermione, on the other hand, looked flabbergasted.

"She can stay," Ginny protested. "She believes Harry, and besides, she knows anyway."

Ron looked to Harry for confirmation, and he nodded.

"Well, you're the boss," Ron said doubtfully, "what's up, Harry?"

"Voldemort," Harry replied concisely, "he's taken Azkaban."

"_What?!_" Ron was out of his seat, which he had only just taken, in a flash. "We need to do something, warn some-"

"I already sent an owl to Dumbledore," Harry said, "I used Pigwidgeon, by the way."

"Oh, that's all right then," he said. "Are you sure the vision was real?" he asked a bit hopefully. "Maybe it was a dream?"

Harry flinched at that. He was completely sure that it hadn't been a dream, because he'd had a similar one where he'd seen the death of Frank Bryce the summer before his fourth year.

"I don't think so, Ron," he said quietly, and Ron looked defeated.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Hermione asked in a small voice, and they turned to her. "Voldemort really is back, and there's going to be a War soon."

"There's going to be a War soon," Harry agreed, looking out of the window. Grey clouds were gathering on the horizon. "The enemy has moved."

He could only wonder, as the Express hurtled along in its path to Hogwarts, what Voldemort's plan was.

The answer, much to his horror, came to them that evening itself. They had just pulled into Hogsmeade when it started to rain. Heavy sheets of rain lashes against the sides of the train, and the students had no choice but to charm themselves against it.

Tapping his glasses with a quick_ Impervious,_ Harry walked out into Hogsmeade and shivered. It was a cold night.

"We need to make sure everybody's getting into the carriages," Hermione said, "come along, Ron."

Harry was relieved to find that he was no longer disappointed at not being appointed a Prefect; after his vision, it seemed rather stupid to worry over such paltry things.

Ron made to move forward, but stopped short when the cold intensified.

"Firs' years, this way –" even Hagrid paused in between his shouts as the temperature dropped sharply, and Harry's heart was suddenly beating a tattoo in his chest.

_No,_ his mind said,_ not already. Not so soon._

"Dementors!" the cry went up, and Harry watched as the raindrops around them froze over completely, now dropping to the earth in a shower of hail. Up in the northwest corner of the sky, a mass of dark shapes was making its way towards them.

Hogsmeade, it seemed, had raised the alarm. He could hear the insistent wailing of alarms, and the terrified cries of witches and wizards.

"What's going on?" a familiar voice asked, obviously panicked. "What're Dementors doing here?" It was Seamus Finnigan, Harry's yearmate.

"Calm down, Seamus," Harry tried to reassure him, but Seamus reacted rather poorly.

"Har- Potter," he said with a sneer, when he realized who it was. Harry immediately gathered that Seamus was not amongst the people who believed him about Voldemort's return.

Hermione, it seemed, had realized the same. "Now's not the time, Seamus," she said. "We need to call for help –"

Somebody, it seemed, had already had that idea. Their eyes turned upwards as a flare whistled up into the sky, before it exploded in a shower of sparks.

Harry answered with a quick_ Periculum _of his own, his own flare was much larger and lit the entire sky up. All around him, students were pulling their wands out and sending up flares, while the first years were huddling around Hagrid.

It was going to be too late – he could only guess that Pigwidgeon hadn't been able to get to Dumbledore on time, or the Headmaster wasn't at Hogwarts.

"Expecto Patronum," he heard, and couldn't help but turn his head in surprise.

_Figures_. It was Diggory, who had managed to cast a weak silver shield around him. Even so, students were gathering around him, drawn to him like Moths to a flame.

"Brace yerselves!" Hagrid yelled, "the Perfessors will be 'ere soon –"

_Not soon enough,_ Harry thought. The Dementors were now visible, swooping over the town and attempting to break into houses. As long as everyone was inside, Harry knew that they were safe – physical barriers could hold Dementors back.

Which left only one target – the students.

"GET BACK INTO THE TRAIN!" Harry roared, his wand out. There was a moment of no reaction, before the crowd descended into hysteria. Screams and yells of fear rent the air as everybody made a mad scramble for the train; the younger years were nearly squashed in the stampede.

They weren't going to make it in time – Harry raised his wand, gathering his magic. He was still an amateur at it, so he could only be glad that he was adept at this spell.

"You can do it, Harry," Hermione urged. Ron and Hermione hadn't left his side, but so hadn't Ginny or Luna, much to his surprise. "You've done this before, you've fought off more –"

But he hadn't. There were a lot more than a hundred Dementors here, the sky was now almost darkening in the north. The cold was almost palpable now, visible in the white fog he was breathing out, and for a second, he felt doubtful about his abilities.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, and the moment was shattered. Pulling forth every ounce of determination he could, he imagined her and Ron by his side, reunited after their time apart.

'_EXPECTO PATRONUM!' _ his voice came out deeper than normal, and even those who were yet to board the train turned around at the sound. With an explosion of light and warmth, Prongs burst forth from the end of his wand.

Several hundred eyes followed the Patronus as it charged the Dementors, but Harry knew that it wasn't going to be enough. The Patronus was already flickering, even though it was repelling the Dementors near it – there were just too many.

And then a bear, a cat and an eagle joined the attack – bolstering his own Patronus. As McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout burst into the Platform, he realized that the teachers had arrived. But Dumbledore and Snape were both missing – the rest of the teachers were herding the students back into the train.

"You need to move, now, students!" Sprout, who was nearest to them, yelled.

"Go!" Harry agreed with a nod, "You can't help here!"

His friends looked visibly reluctant, but agreed. Ginny was shaking like a leaf – he could only imagine what she was reliving, and even Luna looked completely ashen. He was starting to feel the cold himself, it was only his Patronus that had been protecting him so far.

"Mr. Potter, you as well!" Sprout insisted, but Harry shook his head.

"That's my Patronus up there!" he shouted, feeling a bead of sweat slide down the side of his head.

"A corporeal Patronus?" Sprout couldn't hide the surprise on her face. Harry nodded, and she returned it with one of her own. "Very well then. Well done, Harry," he was surprised at her use of his given name, but had no time to dwell on it, "the rest of you – in, now!"

A goat had joined the attack; Harry could only thank the wizard in Hogsmeade who'd added to the attack. But even then, they were being pushed back. Nothing, it seemed, could stop the Dementors inexorable march forward.

He needed more power – he knew he'd performed it before. Before his eyes, Prongs flickered out and died. The other Patroni circled the train, but the Dementors grew ever more daring, swooping down at the train.

"Colin! NO! _NO!"_ Screams rent the air, and his heart froze. There was a picture at the bottom of his trunk, of him after the first task, and it had been taken by Colin Creevey. That boy had been one of his loudest supporters; Harry couldn't let him die.

"Where's Dumbledore?" he heard somebody cry behind him, and his lip twisted. Dumbledore wasn't here – this was _his_ moment. His time to shine. Literally.

He'd done it before, like Hermione had said. He could do it again. He remembered the explosion of silver over the frozen Black Lake, the night he'd turned the sky silver –

He drew on his magic again. This time, he felt a small nudge within him, and realized it was the bond. With another thrill, he suddenly realized that the Patronus was a form of Soul Magic itself.

He raised his wand, his back straight, and all fear gone. The Dementors had reached the trains, the other Patroni had died. Students were screaming and crying in horror, but he paid it no mind –

His wand was now behind his right ear, the tip glowing. He brought it down smoothly, and let his magic free.

'_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!' **_Prongs emerged forth, again. This time, the Dementors converged on his Patronus, confident in their ability to overpower him –

Prongs exploded in a brilliant display of silver light. It was like someone had flicked on a giant light, and for a startling second, the entire world was a brilliant white. Then, as the light faded, they saw wave after wave of silver light exploding out from the epicentre of the explosion where Prongs had been. Orb after orb of crackling silver light pushed the Dementors away, and the students poked their heads out of the windows and looked on in wonder.

The Dementors were thrown back in waves; Harry knew that they wouldn't be returning anytime soon. The Patronus sapped away all their strength and power, and his had probably put them out of action for days.

When the last wave had dissipated into the night sky, leaving behind a tinge of warmth in the air, Harry suddenly became aware that he was shaking like a leaf. He seemed to have topped his feet at the Black Lake in term of sheer numbers, but the cost was just as steep.

Without warning, he sank to his knees, his strength failing him. Darkness began eating away at the corner of his vision, and he was mildly aware of the teachers converging on him and the students pouring out of the train.

Strong hands wrapped around his shoulder, and he heard the telltale _cracks!_ Of apparation. Harry tried to raise his head to see who the newcomers were, but found his strength failing.

"Sleep, Harry," it was McGonagall's voice, "you've done enough."

Gladly, he let the darkness take him.

The last thing he heard was Luna's voice.

"Maybe you should apply the chocolate to your lips, Ginny. Daddy tells me it's more effective when you give it to him that way."

**XoX**

**Author's note: Well, this was a tough chapter to write – a mix of character development, introduction, and action in the end. I confess that the last one was updated more because of the date than the plot – it could easily have been edited and merged with this one. However, this chapter is 6000 words of solid story alone, which is longer than most anything I've written in this story. So, I hope you enjoyed this, and that you take the time out to review.**

**I wouldn't mind hitting 300 with this chapter. Just saying. But thank you for all the follows and favourites, you guys are awesome!**

**Concerning the Patronus. I've always felt that it was Harry's thing, something that set him apart. JKR made it out to be this complex piece of magic in POA, but then trivialised it when she had him teach it to the entire DA. People will not be throwing around Patronuses in this story. **

**Finally, you'll be glad to know that I finally sat down and hammered out everything to do with this story, the climaxes, the subplots, the individual character arcs...and of course, my favourite part – the plot twists. I just wish I had the time in real life to write everything down – I'm fairly itching to right now!**

**Until next time. Be awesome. Or rather, continue to be awesome.**


	13. The Legend and the Headmaster

**Disclaimer: I've said it before. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.**

**Chapter 13: The Legend and the Headmaster**

Harry could hear music. His eyes were heavy and his thoughts sluggish, but he was still able to make out the high, haunting melody running through his mind. It was a song of pure sadness and loss; his eyes seemed to water up behind his eyelids.

He'd heard this song before...

It was Phoenix song.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and the song broke off at the exact same moment. He immediately snapped them shut again, hoping to catch strains of the music again, but it was gone.

His heart felt heavy, it was like he had lost a friend. The song had been beautiful, wild and mournful at the same time, full of despair and regret.

"Mr. Potter?" His eyes opened again, and this time, water did leak out of them as his eyes adjusted to the lighted confines of the room.

"Easy now," he heard, followed by a murmured incantation. His dry eyes were immediately lubricated and his tears vanished, they now felt infinitely more comfortable.

The first thing he saw were twinkling blue eyes looking down at him – except they weren't really so benevolent anymore.

"Professor Dumbledore," he acknowledged; his voice scratchy. He sat up in bed, aware that his muscles felt like they'd been pulled every which way and his back felt like it had been starched.

"Drink this," the same voice repeated, and he realized that it was Madam Pomfrey. Pausing to put on the glasses offered to him, Harry downed the Potion in one go. Warmth rushed to him, bolstering his body with strength and returning a semblance of order to his foggy mind. Feeling infinitely better, he turned his attention to the Headmaster.

"Professor," he asked, noting subconsciously that Dumbledore looked older than Harry'd ever seen him, "where were you?"

Dumbledore, to his surprise, replied with a chuckle. "Ah, Harry, only two days ago, that was a question I was hoping to ask you when we met." Harry kept his face carefully blank at Dumbledore's words, and instead looked expectantly at the old man.

Dumbledore shifted. "Very well," he said, "I suppose I do owe you an answer, seeing that you did what I should have done and protected my students. But perhaps this," he flourished his arm, "is not the right place for the discussion. Do you feel up for a walk, my boy?"

Truth be told, he didn't, but he'd never been one to remain in the Hospital Wing if he could help it. Ignoring Madam Pomfrey's squawks of protest and grinning at Dumbledore's endless platitudes that he'd be fine, he pulled on his robes and walked out side by side with the Headmaster.

Closeted and secretive as the man might be, however much he wanted to alienate and shelter Harry, the teenager couldn't deny that Dumbledore had a style of his own, one that made it very hard for him to dislike him.

Walking side by side with the Headmaster, Harry turned his head subtly to the right and examined the man. Others might have thought that Dumbledore was just as well as ever, but he could feel – maybe it was because of his enhanced senses - that something was off about the man. Instead of walking tall and proud like he'd always had, Dumbledore seemed to be stooping, almost hunched over from the cares of the world.

He suddenly realized that Dumbledore had lived and fought through two wars, lost countless of friends and near ones – maybe even directed several to their death himself. The Headmaster had to be over a century old, and here he was getting ready to lead the Wizarding World for another fight against Voldemort...

"You are pitying me, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice low. Harry started. "I confess that I have started to feel my age as of late, but maybe I have not fallen that far yet."

"How -?"

"A side effect of beginning to learn Occlumency, my boy," Dumbledore replied, his eyes beginning to twinkle slightly again, "I'm delighted to learn that you decided to devote some time to learn the art. Might I ask if this is one of the talents you picked up during your...vacation, shall we say?"

Harry debated how to answer the question, and finally replied, "Amongst others, sir."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Dumbledore replied with a smile, like Harry had personally pleased him in some manner. After a few moments, though, his smile dimmed. "But, I suppose, that is not what we are to talk about."

Harry said nothing, only keeping pace with Dumbledore as he walked. After a few moments, the older wizard spoke again.

"Walls have ears, Harry," he began, and Harry couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at the sudden turn in their conversation. Dumbledore noticed, and chuckled. "Even more so this year. While you were so bravely defending the students from the Dementors, I was held up at the Ministry." A shadow passed over his face. "The Ministry has noted our unfortunate succession of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers over the years, and finally decided to take matters into its own hands. Since you missed the feast, I suppose I should inform you that the newest addition to our staff is one Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself."

Harry frowned – there was something in the Headmaster's wording there. "The Ministry wants to infilitrate Hogwarts."

"They do," Harry was taken aback by the direct answer. Normally, Dumbledore was one for riddles and hints, but in this instance, he had chosen to give Harry a straight answer, almost like they were conversing as...equals.

"And what do they say about the Breakout?"

"I believe the official statement will be released tomorrow morning," Dumbledore said, "as of now, I believe that they are to foist the blame on to the last man to successfully break out of Azkaban –"

"Sirius," Harry breathed, suddenly panicked. Despite his anger towards his Godfather, he was exactly that – the man chosen by Harry's parents to take care of him.

"Indeed. I assure you, though, that Sirius is perfectly safe, and in a secure location – I have seen to it personally. I would advise you to write to him, but then I would be presuming to tell a teenager what to do – and that would be foolish on my part."

Harry ignored the jibe, concentrating on the matter at hand. "Voldemort, he cast a spell on some rock in the prison –"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, "I was grateful for your prompt letter to me. It seems Voldemort managed to win himself the allegiance of the Dementors, but at present, he is only using them to wreak havoc so he can safely carry out his plans in the background without being noticed."

Harry raised his eyebrows – that was impressive strategy. "So he's using the Dementors as a smokescreen?" he verified, and Dumbledore nodded.

"A remarkable idea," Dumbledore comment, unknowingly agreeing with Harry. "However, I believe that it was not his idea to send them in Hogwarts direction. Whatever his other faults – and considerable faults they are -," Harry snorted, "Voldemort has held an unhealthy fascination for the school. I do not think he intends for it to fall until the very end. I believe he simply wanted the Dementors to go out and cause chaos..."

"But then why did they attack here?" Harry asked, his forehead creased from his frown.

"I think the blame there," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly cold, "lies with our Minister."

"Fudge?" Harry asked, surprised. "I don't follow –"

"The Dementors have been proven to possess a measure of long term memory, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice controlled – but Harry could feel the anger vibrating beneath the surface. "They remembered the only place in recent memory other than Azkaban where they had a veritable array of victims –"

"Hogwarts," Harry answered, anger suddenly flashing within him. "Fudge deserves to be strung up for that idea –" Dumbledore said nothing, and Harry continued as his mind made the connections himself, "but he can't. People will be panicking enough when they hear about the Death Eaters who've broken out. They can't deal with losing one of their figureheads, too."

Dumbledore again chose not to reply for a few seconds. "You have grown over the Summer, Harry," blue eyes looked at him curiously, "I almost find myself asking exactly where you were."

This took Harry by surprise. "You won't ask?" To be honest, he had been expecting, and almost relishing the thought of a Spanish Inquisition. He even had some choice spells ready -

"Do you want me to?"

Again, Harry was caught off-balance. "Er, no, I guess."

"Were you harmed in any shape, form or manner?"

"No."

"Were you part of any malpractice that would harm the students at Hogwarts or the Wizarding World in general?"

"What – no, of course not –"

"Were you safe?"

"Yes, I was."

"Very well, then. I will relay the order to the Order," Dumbledore smiled at his own pun, "not to pry in your matters unless you speak of them. But Harry," his tone grew serious again, "I am afraid that we must, for the most part, avoid contact this year."

"You're deserting me," Harry's retort was bald and blunt; and it gave him some mild satisfaction to see those blue eyes lose some of their legendary twinkle. "Of all the times to choose, Professor, after all the times I've supported you, all the manipulations I've taken silently –"

"You know -?" Dumbledore was visibly surprised. For a fleeting moment, Harry thought that he looked extraordinarily like a young boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

He realized that Albus Dumbledore was not a man who was used to getting caught in his schemes.

"If you mean that I know that you have lied to me and manipulated me over the years on several occasions," Harry said, enjoying how Dumbledore flinched, "then yes, I do."

"I will not be so foolish as to deny your claims, Harry, but I am completely honest when I say I have never lied outright to –" Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off.

"Did you willingly harm me in any shape, form or manner?" Harry asked, throwing Dumbledore's own question back at him.

The silence, this time, was oppressive and all-encompassing. Harry waited for the older man's reply, and after a while, he realized Dumbledore didn't have an answer for him.

He looked up. The old man's eyes were suspiciously wet.

"It seems, then, Professor," Harry said, gearing up to do what he had been planning to for quite some while. Truth be told, he had expected more of a fanfare when the moment arrived, and had even imagined tempers running high and spells flying about – especially so on his part.

But Harry finally realized that he had grown up over the summer, after all. His episode with Calli had awakened him to the harsh realities of the world, and he now understood that there was no point in getting angry over things he could now not change, and which might even have helped him.

He would never forgive Dumbledore for leaving him with the Dursleys – the old man had protected him from the demons of the outside world, but not the ones within. His childhood had been far from normal, but in the end, he had survived.

Harry Potter was a survivor, when it came down to it. Dumbledore, despite his faults and mistakes, had helped him survive some.

"We are at a crossroads, Professor."

"It seems we are." Dumbledore's voice was heavy, resigned. "How caught up, we are, in our webs, Harry. What do you plan to do?"

"I wish I knew," Harry answered honestly, "I'll figure something out along the way, Professor. That's how it has always been."

Dumbledore laughed this time, his moustache quivering. "It has, hasn't it?"

"We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose – " The two of them were laughing in earnest now. Some would have expected the conversation to have degenerated into a brawl now, with hexed knees and burned skin, but the two of them were as amiable as ever. Perhaps it was because Harry recognized the power within Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was finally beginning to see Harry for who he really was. True, their entire interaction had been strange, but then again, normal was not a common word for Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter.

Finally, the two of them stopped, eerily identical grins on their faces. "You do realize, Harry, that I will still be doing my best to..._guide_ you along, shall we say?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied, not breaking eye contact. "I wouldn't expect any less."

The game was on. Harry was sure that Dumbledore was many things to him – teacher, benefactor, manipulator, liar – but he was not the enemy. No, their enemy was a common one.

"Professor," Harry asked on a sudden whim, very seriously. Dumbledore seemed to sense it too, and turned sober.

"Have you ever harmed my friends in any shape, form, or manner, including, but not limited to, enchanting them?"

"I have not," Dumbledore replied, as serious as ever, and Harry just _knew_ that the man wasn't lying. "Those are serious –"

"Then it seems that there are more enemies in the shadows than the obvious one," Harry told him, his voice level.

Dumbledore digested this particular bit of information. "I see. Anything more that you care to add, Harry?"

"No, sir," Harry answered. This was it. The game was on.

Dumbledore seemed to have come to the same realization. "Very well, Harry. I bid you farewell, and hope that you will enjoy a warm bed now that our talk is over." With a start, Harry realized that they were currently walking down the seventh floor corridor.

They reached the Fat Lady, who was still awake despite it being very late in the night. "Headmaster! To what do I –"

"Nothing of import, my lady," Dumbledore said courteously, "if you would kindly let young Harry here in?"

"Of course," the Fat Lady replied, turning her gaze on Harry. "Password?"

"Blade," Dumbledore replied, his voice completely flat. As the Portrait flung open, Harry whirled around, his eyes wide with shock. _The Headmaster knew!_

But Dumbledore was gone. The corridor before him was empty, showing neither hide or hair of the older man.

Harry stood there for a second, stunned. Then he shook his head, and grinned, walking into the familiar confines of the familiar Common Room.

"That magnificent bastard," Harry muttered, his thoughts coming back to just how difficult it was to hate Albus Dumbledore. He needed to be more cunning if he was to play their little game...and then, with another start, Harry realized something else.

Even without raising his wand, even though he had expressly stated that he would be avoiding Harry for a better part of the year, Dumbledore was still managing to teach Harry some lessons.

"That magnificent bastard," he whispered again, and walked up the steps to his dormitory.

Sleep beckoned.

Outside the Common Room, Dumbledore reappeared and stared at the now dozing Fat Lady. His eyes were bright as he relished the challenge from the man, who – whether he liked or even realized it or not – was his young protégée. It would be a learning experience for them both.

He mused for a moment about the password, as he stared at the portrait guarding the hole he knew was in the wall before him.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his skull, making him clutch his skull and reel backwards. For a second, he saw the pointed end of a wand and barely remembered a murmured incantation...and then it passed.

The world went back to normal and he was only left with the phantom, stinging pain in his head.

_No, my boy,_ he thought, _you are right. There is more than a single force at work here._

**XoX**

Harry's prediction had been correct. The Great Hall was in a state of general uproar when he arrived for breakfast the following morning. He'd been late after having a bit of a lie-in, and Ron had left a note on his bedside table that he'd be waiting for Harry at the Gryffindor table if he woke by then.

Owls were flying back and forth, people were talking in raised voices, some had even reached outright hysteria. From what he could see, Susan Bones was breathing heavily into a paper bag, while Terry Boot was trying to revive Stephen Corfoot from where he'd fainted at the table.

Nobody noticed him as he walked in, despite the fact that he'd probably saved every single one of their lives the night before. He supposed that Dementors did pale somewhat in front of Death Eaters. Moreover, he suspected that the students had been unaware of the accompanying breakout until morning – they'd been terrified enough at the defecting Dementors, he supposed.

Dementors could suck your souls out. Death Eaters would cause you immense pain, revel in it, and then _blow_ your soul out of your body with an _Avada Kedavra._

Nevertheless, there was a lull in conversation when people realized that he was in the Hall and walking towards the Gryffindor table.

"-he'll protect us from them, right?" A first year's high pitched voice carried quite a bit across the Hall.

The silence that fell across the halls at those words seemed to be so tangible that Harry could nearly see it standing before him and poking its tongue out at him.

He was suddenly aware of over a hundred pairs of eyes on him, looking at him for a reaction. He was, however, saved from replying by an unexpected interruption.

"Mr. Potter," he looked up at the Staff Table where the voice had come from, and almost backpedalled at the sight that met his eyes. The woman who'd addressed him had a flat, toad-like face, and small black eyes, but worse of all, she was dressed completely in _pink_.

_This must be the honourable Dolores Umbridge, _his brain supplied. She simpered, and he immediately knew that he disliked the woman, and that it was mutual.

"I believe that will be ten points from Gryffindor for being late to breakfast."

He was sure that his face was not the only one displaying a blank disbelief. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the gobsmacked expression on every student's face – even on some of the Slytherins' faces, who had looked unbearably smug until moments ago.

The silence was now so large that he was sure that they could feel its effects all the way to Hogsmeade.

And then, all at once, there was pandemonium.

"That's rubbish!" Fred and George Weasley yelled, identical, mutinous expression on their faces.

"You can't do that!"

"He's probably late because he came from the Hospital Wing!"

"And he was there because he _saved_ us all last night, you hag!"

It was madness. Students were on their feet in outrage, shaking their fists and even their wands at the staff table. While most of the teacher's looked shocked, Harry, who was standing calmly at the centre of it all, noticed that Dumbledore looked quite amused.

It was chaos. And it was beautiful.

Harry couldn't help the smile that was pulling at his lips. All these people, they were protesting because of _him_. For once in his life, he was not being shunned and isolated; quite the reverse, in fact.

He supposed it had something to do with the fact that tempers and emotions were running high, and it was also an outlet for many of the students. Maybe, he thought, it was also because of the fact that the Wizarding World took their debts very, very seriously.

"Enough!" surprisingly enough, it was McGonagall who put an end to events, and not Dumbledore. "You will cease this disgraceful behaviour at once, before the entire school is put in detention." The look on the students' faces was mutinous, but they backed down anyway, knowing that she would be as good as her threat.

"Mr. Potter's punishment," she continued, "will not stand, considering his heroic actions." She completely disregarded the filthy look Umbridge sent her way, "In fact, it will be my pleasure to award him a hundred points for his fantastic deed, and to announce that he will be receiving an award for special services to the school."

Her announcement was met with cheers and claps from the students, and Harry couldn't help but grin cheekily and raise a fist in the air, which only increased their cheering. Feeling pleased that some of their attention had been diverted from the breakout; Harry finally sat down at the table and pulled a rack of toast towards him.

"Still the hero, I see," Ron said, grinning at him.

"What does the Prophet say about it?" Harry asked, shoving fried eggs into his mouth as he realized that he was ravenous after his little display of magic.

It was Fred and George who answered his question, speaking in their own unique way.

"Not a mention, Harry, m'boy –"

"Except a wee line at the end of Paragraph 2 –"

"Something about the loony _helping_ the teachers."

"Of course, they didn't mention that you drove away a Dementor all alone –"

"Or two –"

"Maybe even ten – "

"A hundred?"

"You're joking. Five hundred, surely?"

"All in all," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the twins' antics, "they glossed over it as best they could. Doesn't really matter, though."

"And why not?" Harry asked, now scarfing down bacon as even Ron stopped eating and watched him attack the meat.

"Everyone here saw what happened, Harry," Hermione said with a warm smile, "you saved us all. The Ministry can't take away everybody's memory of the event, and you can bet they'll be writing home about it."

"So not the loony any more?" Harry asked with a grin.

Hermione gave a grin of her own. "Of course you're still the loony, Harry," she answered patronizingly, "it's just that everybody now knows what a _heroic_ loony you are."

"Oi!"

**XoX**

It was a good time to be Harry Potter. All over the castle, all through the day, people stopped him to shake his hand and thank him for saving them. The boys complimented him on his magic and good-naturedly offered to spend time with him in a variety of events, while the girls gave him hugs and kisses on his cheek until he was beginning to think that someone up there loved him very, very much.

After a rather salacious proposal from a sixth year Ravenclaw, though, and after a beet-red Hannah Abbot had rushed off after a quick '_Thank you'_ and a peck on the cheek, Ron was beginning to look a little disgruntled.

"It's not that I'm very jealous, mate," he said frankly, "but it's starting to fray on my nerves a bit," the redhead commented, as they sat down together for lunch.

Harry couldn't help but have similar thoughts. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to charm lipstick off his cheek, and even his lips in some cases. He wasn't really complaining – no healthy fifteen year old would – especially after a Muggleborn seventh year had pulled him into a broom closet out of nowhere and given him a very enthusiastic thank you in the dark (before leaving without even giving him her name) – but it _was_ getting a bit tiring.

The giggling, that is. Even now, Parvati and Lavender were taking turns in looking at him and giggling, before putting their heads together and whispering furiously.

"That's nothing," Hermione said airily, pulling a flagon of Pumpkin Juice towards herself, "you should've heard the gossip in the bathrooms. I think you should get a girlfriend just to protect yourselves, Harry, because those girls are willing to do anything to get their claws into you –"

"A girlfriend?" Ron sputtered. "But – but – that's -"

"That's perfectly normal for a boy of Harry's age and disposition, Ronald," Hermione said, before turning to Harry.

"But Harry's never dated!" Ron protested, and Harry was just about to tell him that he had indeed been on a single date with Parvati last year before calling it quits, when they were interrupted.

"As _fascinating_ as this discussion is," Harry grimaced at the unfortunately familiar oily voice, "Mr. Potter has been summoned to the Headmaster's office immediately. I am," Snape paused at this junction, before resuming his speech with more vinegar in his tone than ever, "to _accompany_ Mr. Potter to the Headmaster's office at his behest."

Seeing that Ron was about to open his mouth, Harry stood up quickly and turned around. "Of course, Professor. Lead the way."

Snape sneered in a fashion that told him that he'd sooner lead Harry into the very depths of hell, before stalking off like an overgrown bat, his cloak billowing behind him. Harry was left to follow, taking hurried strides to keep up with the older man.

The journey to Dumbledore's office was thankfully completed in silence, though it was rather awkward for him to be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Snape as they took the revolving stairs up to the office.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice called as Snape knocked on the door. Harry walked in, and was surprised to see all the Heads of Houses sitting around Dumbledore's table. There was also another woman with short, grey hair and a monocle set in her stern face. Behind her was another man, tall and with tawny hair streaked with gray; who gave off the overall impression of an old, battle-weary lion. Finally, there was Umbridge, who looked like she'd been forced to swallow a very bitter lemon very recently.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Severus," the Headmaster commented, giving no indication that he'd had an intimate conversation with Harry only hours ago. "I'm glad you answered my summons so promptly. Might I present to you Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror office, and Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

The both of them nodded briskly at Harry, and he replied in kind. Dumbledore turned to Madam Bones, who took that as her cue to speak.

"Mr. Potter, I will endeavour to come straight to the point," she said. Her voice was loud - yet not uncomfortably so - and booming. Harry thought that she would have made a good judge. "The Ministry of Magic needs your help."

"My help?" Harry asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," this time, it was Scrimgeour who answered. "With the recent Dementor Defection, the Auror Office has come up with a plan to contain the Dementors and minimize the damage they are causing. Casualties are already through the roof, and time is of the essence. Aurors are working to save lives as we speak."

"I see," Harry answered with a nod, immediately alert. He may not like the Ministry or the Minister of Magic, but hundreds – even thousands – of lives were at stake here. "How can I help?"

"We need the support of every wizard who can cast a Corporeal Patronus, Mr. Potter," Madam Bones told him, "and that is a remarkably exclusive group of us, unfortunately. In fact, you are the youngest wizard on the list, by a large margin as well. Impressive!" she boomed, and eyed him speculatively.

"Very well, Madam," Harry replied, "I am yours to command for now."

"Good man," she replied, and Harry quietly noted her choice of nouns. "I will not ask for a demonstration, and take my niece's word instead –"

_Susan's aunt, _Harry mentally connected, but did not interrupt her to ask. She did not seem like the kind of woman who would take kindly to her.

" –and get straight to the plan." With a flourish of her wand, a map of Wizarding Britain was resting on the table.

"A quick update on Dementors, if any of you are unaware," Scrimgeour took over again, "they prey on happiness and strong emotions, and are strongest where there is decay and mould and depression. Which means –" he tapped his wand, "right now, these areas are somewhat safe, while the main Dementor forces are concentrated in this area."

"We plan to box them in into the Dark Forest up North," Scrimgeour said, waving his wand and showing the designated path of action. Simply put, they would herd the Dementors with Patroni into a specific area, where wards and shields had already started being put up in preparations to hold them there."

"Why can't they be returned to Azkaban?" Harry asked, his eyes drifting over the villages shown on the map.

"Azkaban's gone, boy," Madam Bones answered, "I don't know if you've read the papers, but it was blown to pieces by whoever launched this attack. It's ruined, still barely standing. The wards around it are dead."

"And who do you think is the perpetrator?" Harry asked, his eyes meeting her grey ones.

"That is Ministry information, and is classified at the moment. I feel it prudent to tell you that you are on a strict need-to-know basis –"

Harry felt his temper rise at how _blind_ the Ministry was being, when the proof of Voldemort's return were right under their noses. He almost opened his mouth to tell them just what he thought of the Ministry's evasions and lies, when his brain kicked in.

All the teachers were completely silent, staring at him with mask-like faces. Umbridge, on the other hand, was looking at him hungrily, almost like she were expecting him to slip up somehow. Scrimgeour and Bones, to his surprise, were looking at him very shrewdly, almost as if they were testing him somehow...

Harry breathed through his nose several times. "I see," he said. The eyes of the Officer's glinted, almost like he'd passed some invisible test. "Where do you want me placed?"

The Ministry was in a pandemonium. He knew it, Umbridge knew it, Bones and Scrimgeour knew it. Fudge was somehow maintaining near-totalitarian government, even as it crumbled to the ground around him, firm in his denial of Voldemort's return.

They didn't need him to point out the obvious.

_Games,_ he thought, suddenly remembering his thoughts of the night before, _games all around._

**XoX**

**Author's note: Phew, another chapter. This one was a beast to write, but I think it came out ok in the end. It sets up the plot and storyline further, hints at further arcs, and of course, firmly establishes the relationship between Harry and Dumbledore.**

**For those who were expecting rampant Dumbledore bashing, I'm sorry, but I cannot deliver. Dumbledore is one of my favourite characters to write, because of the depth and sheer complexity of character. People hate him because he left Harry with the Dursleys, and his plan of victory hinged on having Harry die. Of course, people also theorize in most fiction that Harry was abused physically thanks to Dumbledore – a fact JKR never confirmed.**

**Yes, he was neglected. I could also counter-theorize that Dumbledore's blood wards prevented, say, Quirrel from finding Harry when he was nine and taking him to Voldemort. I think I'd take neglected over dead any day, and Harry realizes this after his summer in this story.**

**And of course, Dumbledore's plan in canon hinged on Harry dying... **_**but still surviving to end Voldemort.**_** And also pick up the handy title of Master of Death along the way.**

**I firmly believe that no amount of magical trunks, alliances with Goblins, or even Dark Magic can really send canon!Harry skyrocketing to Voldemort's level in seven years. Voldemort has a head start of half a century, and he was hailed as the brightest student to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. **

**On the other hand, Dumbledore engineered the fight so magnificently that Harry had to blunder about for a year, kill Horcruxes, and then sacrifice himself. Sound horrible?**

**Dumbledore also set the war up so that Harry was able to kill the darkest wizard of all time with **_**Expelliarmus,**_** a second year spell.**

**One cannot simply bash that man and portray him as senile and stupid. In the story, instead of ranting and raving and flinging spells, the two of them talk like **_**equals**_**. In canon, Voldemort would throw a tantrum whenever Dumbledore was around, but ol' Albus would be calm and collected and just as dangerous – I always thought that was badass.**

**Of course, there's still the fact that all isn't quite right with Dumbledore either. But that's a story for another time.**

**Oh, and just in case anyone wants to point out that I'm setting Harry up so he can beat Voldemort himself, I'm not. Refer to the chapter before last. Refer to Chapter 10.**

**And so ends my rant/impassioned defence of Dumbledore. He's an okay fellow in my books.**


End file.
